


One Silly, Bloody Wish Later

by Batagur



Series: The Charmed Ship [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batagur/pseuds/Batagur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post AWE. Jack Sparrow makes a wish for himself... sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Mouse owns. Don't tell Walt.  
> Originally Posted: January, 2009 On Bring Me That Horizon Archive

_So, this is me, mate: Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service. You may be wonderin' what it is I am doing at this stage in me life. I know you saw me there just dive right off that Navy vessel and save that girl without a thought of profit. Her peril could have been the perfect distraction for me to make off with that lovely little ship._

_Aye, what was I thinkin'? I'll tell you what I wasn't thinkin', mate. I wasn't thinkin' the whole deal would end with a sword in my face and an angry, puffed-up bit of navy ponce in brocade tryin' to steal my precious freedom to further his already over-rated career._

_So what's my problem? I'll tell you what my problem is: altruism; a vicious bout of it. Believe me, it is an odd habit for a pirate. The code is quite specific on it: Those that fall behind are left behind. In short, your neck first, mate. What was I thinking, indeed?_

_Well, back to the matter. There I was, staring up the length of a rather shiny, impressive blade at a pair of blazing eyes, green as the bright and beautiful sea. Scowlin' becomes him actually. But I had no time to think of it. My thoughts should have been solely on surviving the mess that my vicious bout of altruism had led me to. I was thinkin', but my mouth was flirting all the same. He told me that I am possibly the worst pirate he has ever heard of. I replied:_

_"Ah, but you have heard of me."_

_No profit in all this, mate. I was caught... until the lovely lass recovered her wits and stood between me and certain doom. Now there is a bit o' luck. Not only did she provide distraction to the now angry mob of navy men, but she gave me moments behind the shield of her person to recover from my bedazzlement from those beautiful green eyes._

_Silly, innit? Are ye prepared for a touch of irony now? As beauteous as the fair Miss Swann is, m'eyes and heart had settled on yon fair commodore who was even at that moment contemplating my imminent demise. As he would put it, I later learned: short drop; sudden stop. But, alas, I have a reputation and all, and besides, I enjoy what meager life I possess; thus I took the opportunity to quit the scene as Miss Swann provided ample protection. Simple self-preservation, mate, and yet they call me a cad and brigand. And which of them, if they were in my shoes, surrounded by enemies prepared to merrily stretch my neck for doing no more than saving a young lass from a watery grave, would do any better?_

_Not a one, I'll warrant._

_Let me make this long and somewhat complicated and very disturbing story short: It were all fate, matey. I was meant to come to Port Royal and save Elizabeth Swann, who was, in turn, meant to be grateful enough for me to afford a temporary escape so that I could then encounter Bootstrap Bill's son. All of this tying together neatly with me very own_ Black Pearl _with her mutinous, undead pirate crew sailing into the harbor that evening to spirit away Miss Swann, and thus galvanizin' young Will into rash action to retrieve her... which was only to my benefit, as she were being held on the Pearl, and I wasn't about to gain me freedom from the Commodore's clean little gaol without the help. And I had thought my luck had run dry. No, it were all fate. Young Will freed me and off we set together to commandeer one of the Commodore's fine little boats._

_That worked out well and I was able to get me revenge and me Black Pearl from Hector Barbossa, Will got his lady love, and the Commodore... well at least he got the very lovely sword and all. I did feel sorry for the lad. I was rootin' for him, handsome young gent that he is. No one that pretty should lose the girl. Alas, he did. Perhaps that was only to my benefit as well. I tell you, it were fate._

_Now, where was I? Ah, so the Commodore loses the lovely Miss Swann, Bootstrap's boy wins the same, and I fall off the parapet of Fort Charles and go free from a very close encounter with the hangman's noose as I ever wished to have. I half expected the Commodore to fish me from the bay before I could reach me ship. Imagine my surprise when I made it to the Pearl's deck and there wasn't even the half appearance of a pursuit launched on my behalf. I could have been hurt by his apparent lack of interest, but I took it as a sign of good will instead._

_Silly me. It t'weren't long before the Commodore was out in his heavy lady,_ the Dauntless _, firing upon me at every occasion, making it hard for an honest pirate to make his way in the world._

_Frustrating as all that was, a part of me was sort of slightly glad for the Commodore's attention. This is where you think me daft, and you wouldn't be the only soul on that count, to be sure. I must confess that I mayhap longed to look into those lovely green eyes again. But this was hardly the way to go about a proper courtship._

_A true buccaneer can find his love in man or woman. It's told that the first of the brethren swore off woman completely as cursed creatures of ill fortune. I, for one, cannot see the profit in this line of thought. I find women quite pleasant companions. Certainly I've had more to converse with among women than with most men of my acquaintance. They are interesting, logical creatures that other men overlook as beneath notice. Take a moment, mate, to really talk with a woman, and you'll not find a brainless, helpless chit, but a wily creature using her wit to the advantage to plunder most men of their intent better than any pirate. They are the masterminds of life, mate, and make no mistake._

_I prefer a lovely woman when she is accommodating, and wooing is a pleasant but tiring game that I have learned to enjoy for the game's sake. But there is nothing finer than a beautiful man, mate. Made of muscle and flesh, a flash of spirit in the eyes, and a heart that beats untamed is what can turn me head. Wooing a man is a different game all together there; even more so exhausting, but the rewards.... Aye, the rewards!_

_Commodore James Norrington of His Majesty's fleet in Jamaica, the most beautiful man I have yet to encounter is still ridin' me tail, and not in a good way._

_This has got to change soon._

_~*~_

_So here I am again, mate. I'm a dreadful fright; willing to sell me own crew to the devil himself to save me own skin. Double-crossed by people I thought I knew. Brought back into the very fray I left because they couldn't go on without me. I come back to find the very last face in the world I ever wanted to see again, staring at me with that smirk, and that monkey._   
_Then me very own Da tells me that in the end, it's livin' with yer own self that matters. I've spent too much time in me own company. That, my friend, is hell._

_One last bout of altruism to help seal my fate, aye? What do I get for it? Barbossa took my ship again, Elizabeth and Will have to endure the Dutchman's curse, and to top off all that, Elizabeth tells me that the lovely James Norrington died saving her. His actions were probably motivated from love, the unrequited form._

_She said he wore the uniform of an admiral. I liked him far best as a commodore. That defeated, rum-soaked sot did not become him. I almost detested what he let himself turn into. But, I must admit, I still admired the smoldering fire in his eyes. I hated that it burned only for Elizabeth. The man needed to let that bird fly. She was long and gone over young William._

_It's all over now, and I only have me own company again. Not so bad now. I have goals that should not cause me to cross paths with any one in need of one pathetic pirate, prone to vicious bouts of altruism._

_The open sea and freedom is all I've ever wished for. Right?_

_~*~_  

No one answered and Jack sighed in relief. He half expected to hear his own voice in his head again, mocking him for not being more savvy to Barbossa's level of treachery. It had been too easy for the man to make off with the _Pearl_. Now here he was again, one man in a little boat, so very alone. Now he didn't even have the company of his insane self.

"Pathetic pirate," he muttered out loud. Normally, Jack would rarely allow himself to indulge in self-pity, but being all alone on an open, calm sea in a little one-man dinghy seemed an appropriate place to indulge for a short while. But only a short while. It wasn't as if he was sitting in the gaol waiting for his dawn appointment with a noose. 

Nay, he had his rum and his compass, and he had Sao Feng's chart. He had fair winds and a calm sea. He had a boat with only a minor leak. He was in much better shape than he was last time he was all alone. 

"Gonna need a provision stop soon, however," he reminded himself then grimaced when he noticed how low the first of five rum bottles was getting. 

A little fresh water and some food, of course he'd have to ration the rum unless he planned to aim for a civilized port. At the moment, it didn't seem necessary, and the nearest civilized port was further off course than the next convenient little island. No natives on this one, he was almost sure. It did have a spring, and there was game in the way of wild fowl that could be caught and cooked, with luck. Fortunately, he had more than one shot. As much as he would have liked to pump multiple balls into Barbossa's black heart, he had to thank the man for a less violent mutiny. Stranding him in Tortuga was probably the highest point of mercy from Barbossa. It was practically kissing him on the cheek before casting off. 

Five full jugs of rum, and he was already concerned enough that he was considering rationing? Mayhaps he should consider swearing off the stuff? 

Jack paused thoughtfully. "Bloody no!" he guffawed as a thousand images of him as a balmy teetotaler came to his mind. And he could quit any time he wanted. He went without for longer than ever while in Davy Jones' Locker.... Not that that was particularly fun. The lack of rum had seemed part and parcel to the rest of the torment. 

He had time enough and rum enough, and he was alone. 

*** 

It was near sunset when he spotted the small island that he had decided to make for. He knew he could find pitch and lumber to seal the boat's bottom and perhaps take care of that pesky, small leak. The island was small but lush and he could hear birdsong even from as far out as he was.

He reefed the sails as he neared the shallows, not wanting too much speed. The island had a lovely white sand beach that would be easy on the boat's keel. A nice place to haul out and dry-dock for a day or two. 

Pulling the boat ashore, he noted how much unlike this activity was from trying to pull the _Pearl_ off of the largest sandbar know to this world and the next. And Jack smiled as he pulled the little boat the rest of the way, its shallow keel scraping a rut in the surf-wet sand. He pulled it until he was certain it would be safe from a normal high tide. He then tied a line off to the nearest tree at the vegetation's edge. With that done, he set off further inland for water and firewood, taking the one, now empty, rum jug along. 

That took him far longer than he thought it would, and so he returned to the beach just after the last of the sun sank beyond the horizon. Thus he missed that sudden, small flash of light that signified that a soul was free to return from beyond. 

By dark, Jack had a nice fire on the beach, some hardtack and salty broth for supper and one full bottle of rum to keep him company. 

_~*~_

_So now, here I am, mate, all on me onesies with rum, a map and my compass. First time in me whole bleedin' life I actually miss someone. Hell, I miss them all. I miss Elizabeth and that determination of hers that drives her to be as ruthless as any pirate king should be. I miss Will and that non-stop, incessant need to be honorable and proper, like doing unto others will make him anything other than a dupe. Poor lad, how I miss him. I miss Gibbs and Marty and Mr. Cotton avec parrot. I'd still pump shot into Barbossa's black heart, but I'd take a moment to catch up with him first. Damn, I even miss the monkey._

_I haven't much to show for it all but what few things in my possession now and the clothes on me back._

_"I don't even have anyone to tell the story to."_

_Now, I'm talking to the stars, mate. Lookin' at the rings on me fingers. Ah, there is the one I got in Bombay from that Raj's daughter. They said she named her firstborn after me. I guess we may never know if the little bugger really is a junior. She married three days after our... association ended._

_This one, on me thumb, belonged to Da, and he told me he was sick of looking at it. So I stole it off his finger while he was in his cups. I think mum gave it to him. And this one on me pinkie, the one with the onyx stone, that I stole from Tia Dalma's little hut in the big swamp... with jars of frog entrails and owl bones. That woman needed better hobbies, like needlepoint._

_~*~_  

Jack rested his lips against the smooth stone of the ring and looked up at the evening sky, filling with stars as the last golden-pink glow of the sun settled away in the western sky. It was a lovely night; just like that night he spent dancing and drinking and singing with Elizabeth on that little island.

"We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves,

Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,

Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho. " 

Jack smiled as he murmured the verse to the stars. It was a fairly good description of most of the brethren, after all. And Jack liked to think he could fit most of it. Certainly he had been a rascal and a scoundrel. Villainy was in the eye of the beholder, and being knavish was often a matter of breeding. He was one of the pirate lords, and like almost all of them, he was more than just literate; he was well-read. Jack Sparrow was an accomplished pirate, mostly because Teague Sparrow wanted the little blighter out of his hair and occupied with useful pursuits. Learning helped ensure that a man couldn't be duped by his supposed betters. 

The rest of the verse didn't matter other than Jack loved the idea of being a "bad egg." It made him giggle. 

"I'm a bad egg," he said with a smile, resting his lips again on the onyx warmed by his breath. But the smile faded as he realized that he was merely a lonely egg. Will and Elizabeth had proven to even him, that he wasn't all bad. 

A shooting star caught his eye, and he watched as it streaked along the sky in a long green thread of light. It had lasted longer than most shooting stars, and its color and brilliance were nothing new to Jack. He had seen such before. His mother had told him the old fishwife tale that a boy could get his wish if he told it to the star. 

"I could tell you my wish," Jack began. "But then you would be, 'Jack, ol' boy- firstly: that's more than any man could wish... I mean the sheer volume of that wish would take up all the magical inclinations left in the universe, and that would not be fair to the kiddies, aye? Secondly: you are not a boy anymore...'" He paused gazing at his fingers that he had been ticking off points with. Somehow he had four fingers raised and felt a little disorientated. Nevertheless he forged ahead, changing tactics. "'C: when's it ever been that you've had a wish granted that didn't go south on you?'." 

Jack lifted a finger with a triumphant smile. "Aye, there's the rub! And you would be very correct to point all this out to me, Mr. Star. I am obliged." 

He toasted the star with a wicked smile, lifting his jug high. 

"Wishes don't come true just as you like them. Ask Will and Elizabeth Turner if you need proof." Jack took a deep drink. The night was young, the stars were bright, and he was still Captain Jack Sparrow. 

Years of drinking and drinking deeply had minimized the severity of hangover in Jack. A weaker soul would have been weeping in his own filth; Jack rose and went to a quiet spot to purge. He then drank as much water as his roiling stomach could bear. After a moment, once his stomach settled a little more around a breakfast of hardtack, he would go get the ol' "hair of the dog" remedy that would make his head worth working with. 

He returned to the beach, squinting into the bright new day. The sea looked bright and calm all the way to the horizon, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Returning to the smoldering remains of his fire, he added fuel to the few hot coals that were left. Soon he coaxed enough flame to put his little tin cup on for tea.

_~*~_

_Aye, tea._

_~*~_  

Coffee worked best but didn't travel as well. Tea, sweetened with a liberal dollop of rum was good for what ailed him. He sat his cup against the small fire that burned in the ashes of his larger fire of the previous night and sat back to wait for it to boil so he could steep his tea leaves. It was as he sat, that something caught the edge of his vision.

His head turned sharply, and perhaps a mite too sharply at that as he clutched his aching skull in both hands and squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the pain. But he forced them open again quickly. There was no sense missing what he turned his sore head to see. Something had to make it worth the effort. His eyes widened as he beheld what movement attracted his eye. 

"Curious," he said, his head cocking to the side as he watched the small, white crab shuffle just beyond the reach of the gently rolling surf. It stopped for a moment and half turned in his direction. Jack felt his eyes widen yet more so. 

"Alarming," he changed his assessment. He had seen these types of crabs before, and why their ilk had taken such an interest in him, he could only guess. Jack knew, somehow, that the crab was beckoning him to follow. 

"Still being followed by rock-shaped crabs, I see," he murmured as he pulled his tea water back from the hot spot in the fire and rose to his feet. "Well, now I cannot call it a first." 

The crab shuffled faster than Jack imagined it could as he scuffled along in its tracks. 

"Oh, that's how we play it then? If I catch you, it'll be crab stew tonight." Well, there was no reason not to, and it seemed as fair as any game on the island. But the little devil proved to be elusive and quick. Soon Jack was caught up in the chase, weaving after it, up and down the long stretch of dunes, heading for the shoreline and then away, and then back again. He kept he eyes on the scuttling little creature, muttering curses at it as he went. 

He was upon it and he slowed, watching it. It had frozen in its tracks as small creatures often do. He knew if he was patient and didn't move a muscle, and dove into its path just right, he would have it. Jack was good at patience... most times. The crab moved a claw a fraction of an inch and Jack knew it was now or never. With a long growl he threw himself down at the creature, landing with a thud on the fine sand, sending grit up to his mouth and nose. Jack sputtered, spat, and blinked. The crab was gone. 

He looked up. On the beach, just yards away at the edge of the surf lay a still form. It was just large enough to be a body. Jack rose to investigate. The body was wearing clothes and clothes had pockets and pockets had coins and other useful items. 

As he approached, more than a few more of the curious white crabs scuttled away from the body, heading back to the sea. Jack grimaced, hoping the little monsters had not chewed too much of the poor soul off to make him a gruesome mess. Robbing the dead was grisly enough without the unpleasant aspect of mutilation. 

The man, for it appeared to be a man, wore the coat of a British naval officer. It was hemmed and decorated with heavy brocade that could not have been very buoyant once soaked through. But this one didn't die of drowning. More than likely, he was dead before he went to the deep. The back of his coat had a long, single tear, the edges ragged and slightly stained dark. Probably before he hit the water, the dark stain had been red and soaked through and through. 

The man's arms were flung up over his head almost protectively and Jack wondered about that. Dead bodies that were up on shore usually came with arms at the side and sometimes akimbo. Rarely did they take such an active, defensive posture. 

"Apparently you were not all dead when you arrived here," Jack murmured to his new companion. He knelt by his side and reached a hand into the wide pocket of the fancy coat. 

"Nothing. Bugger." Jack frowned. "Oh well, let's check some more." 

He took hold of the sodden body and pulled it towards him to flip him to his back. Jack grimaced and turned partially away, prepared for a singularly gruesome sight. Instead, what his eyes caught sight of made his breath catch. 

His face was just as Jack remembered. His mouth that could produce such a stern line when angered was also soft and near innocent when taken by gentle surprise, just as it was that day on the Dauntless when Elizabeth offhandedly accepted his proposal of marriage. His eyes were closed, but Jack remembered how green they were. Now his long lashes lay tender against high cheekbones. He had lost his wig, probably to the sea, but his dark brown hair was still neatly tied back, mostly. 

A flush of color rose to the Admiral's cheeks and Jack startled, pulling back in shock. James Norrington took in a great breath and coughed. 

"Bugger," Jack repeated. "Another chance for a vicious bout of altruism." 

***

He coaxed the fire up a bit and pulled the barely conscious Norrington closer to it. He began to strip him from his soggy, useless clothes. He had two spare blankets at the ready.

"Why I should do this, show you mercy, bewilders me to no end," Jack complained as he pulled Norrington free of coat, and started on the buttons of his fine waistcoat. "For when have you ever showed me mercy, except to impress a woman whose love you would never have? I may be a pathetic pirate, but you, sir, are a pathetic navy man." 

Norrington's eyes did not open, but there was a look of pain about his face. He coughed weakly once again. 

"I can't even call us square on any account. You tried to hang me, but you did let me get back to me ship. Then after that, you chased me like your tail was on fire and I was a bucket of water. You nearly drowned my ship and crew, forcing us into that blasted storm. Then I take you on me ship and give you a berth among me crew, and you thieve from me. You took the heart and left me and Will and Elizabeth to Jones' mercies... and that's what grieves me most, mate." Jack stopped what he was doing and took Norrington by the lapels and shook him. 

"Man of honor! You're a worse pirate than I." 

Jack pushed Norrington back to the ground and rose. "You gave it to that feculent popinjay Beckett and sealed all our fates." Jack rose, looking down at the man in disgust. 

Norrington moved feebly where he lay on the ground. His eyes still did not open, but his lips moved. A weak whisper barely reached Jack's ears. 

"Sorry... So sorry...." 

Jack's expression softened. He knelt back down. "Aye, you are not alone, mate," Jack replied softly. With a short sigh, he then reapplied himself to the task of helping the man. 

The hole in the back of Norrington's coat had a twin in the front of his waistcoat. Beneath the waistcoat, the white shirt was rent in a spot just below the heart. Jack carefully removed that. The skin was healed over, but there was a place where a rather impressive hole had once been. 

"Elizabeth said you were dead," Jack said in a flat tone as he wrapped the man in the first blanket. "I take it you were, for a while." 

Norrington coughed and his eyelids twitched, then blinked. Then Jack was staring into jade green eyes. For a moment, Jack's heart reacted, but he squelched the feeling quickly enough, reminding himself that the man could not be trusted. 

Norrington coughed again and began to struggle in Jack's grasp. Jack sat him up. 

"Sparrow?" 

"Aye?" 

"Are we dead?" 

Jack thought about it, then looked the man squarely in the eye. "No." 

"Not hell?" 

"No, and I should know. I've been there." 

"Elizabeth?" And the man looked up into Jack's face with a pleading look that both pulled at and broke his heart all at once. 

"She's well. Back in Port Royal I think. She really didn't tell me where she would be off to when she left after the Dutchman and Will..." 

Norrington gripped Jack's arms hard. "On the Dutchman?" The edge of panic was written all over his face. 

"No, no... Not to worry. Jones is dead... really dead, and Will, you see..." 

"Will Turner," Norrington said in a defeated tone as if he already knew what Jack would say. His hands fell from Jack's shoulders as his eyes closed slowly. Norrington looked away from Jack. 

Jack frowned, perplexed. "Well, you had to know that was how it would be." 

"Yes," Norrington replied very softly. His head dropped slightly, and again Jack's heart was assaulted. 

Jack sat back in the sand, looking out over his fire towards where his little boat sat on the sand, waiting.

"Forget her, mate. The sooner, the better." 

Norrington did not reply. He didn't even look up. There was silence between them, and Jack listened to the soothing sounds of the waves, and the breeze in the palms. 

"Yes, Sparrow." Norrington's voice sounded so small against the fresh breeze. "I am very aware of how pathetic I am." 

Jack looked over to find Norrington looking at him steadily, his face blank as he must have been fighting his emotions back down. Jack guessed that Norrington was like a very well-contained volcano. He held the lot in, but from time to time, you might glimpse a little steam. It chilled Jack how cheerful he had seemed about his hatred for Jack back in Tortuga. Drunk and used up, he had seemed next to lunacy, yet Jack took him aboard against his better judgment, and not just because Elizabeth wanted it. 

"I take it then that Beckett's plans were foiled?" 

"Aye," Jack replied watching the man carefully. 

"What am I doing here, Sparrow?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer then closed it as he realized he didn't really know. He had raised a finger to stress his point, but he curled it back into his fist as he faltered for something to tell the man. 

"Tia said that souls at peace cannot be called back...." Jack murmured. "Clearly," he said with authority, looking back at Norrington, "you were not at peace." 

Norrington only sighed and looked away. Jack looked away as well, sketching patterns in the sand at his feet. 

After a while, Norrington spoke again. His voice was a little more firm and sure. "That does not explain how I came to be here, in this place, with you." 

"Now that, mate, is hard to rightly explain, as I, myself, have only a vague notion of what came about." 

Norrington turned to look at him with that old familiar sarcasm and disdain in his eyes. "Pray do enlighten me, Sparrow. Any explanation, even one of yours, would be more than I have now. " 

Jack frowned. "When you place it to me in that tone, I feel disinclined to share." He folded his arms over his chest and stuck his tongue out at Norrington. 

"Petulant as ever, I see." 

"Pompous as ever, I see." 

Norrington looked away again. "Nevertheless, Sparrow, I thank you for the fire and the blanket." 

"Stick around," Jack said with a smile. "There will be tea and biscuits later." 

Jack took the edge of his sash and retrieved the tin cup from the edge of the fire. "No sugar or honey. I take mine with rum. How about you?" 

"Surely you are joking." 

Jack leaned forward passing the cup Norrington's way so that the steam wafted under his nose. Norrington sniffed it briefly then sat back with a sigh. 

"It appears to be tea." 

"Why would I lie?" 

"You do not want me to answer that." 

"Now, do you want rum in your tea?" 

"No, Sparrow. I do not wish to have rum in my tea. I am not quite the lush you are." 

"You were well on your way not long back," Jack shrugged and sat the cup before Norrington. "Fine, then. More rum for me." 

Jack pulled the new bottle of rum close but he did not uncork it yet. He looked thoughtfully out to the clear sky. 

"My best guess, Commodore... or, excuse me, Admiral, is that I tried not to make a wish on a falling star. Said star found it humorous to grant me the thing I was trying hardest not to wish for. Being totally hoodwinked by a silly notion of charms and magic in the night sky, I fell into the trap of a wicked wish granter. I suppose you can see the irony in all this?" 

"Honestly, Sparrow, that one took the cake." 

"Come now, Comm... Admiral. After all the things we have seen: undead pirates, men that are half fish, a beating heart outside of a man's body...Can you honestly discount what I've said to you?" 

"Why would you wish for me?" 

"Did you miss the part where I said wicked wish granter? I don't know. I wished for someone... anyone." 

Norrington looked around, scanning the horizon. "And where is _the Black Pearl_? You lost her again, didn't you?" 

The smirk on Norrington's face was like a kidney punch. Jack decided to pay him back in kind. "At least she's still in one piece. I heard the Dauntless' mizzen mast washed up somewhere near Kingston harbor." 

Norrington's eyes darkened ominously and he turned away from Jack. "Pirate bastard!" 

Jack could clearly see the man was shaking with barely contained rage. Well, it served him right. "Sticks 'n stones," Jack replied. 

They were silent again. After a moment, Norrington lifted the cup of tea and took a cautious sip. 

"I suppose," Norrington began slowly, "I deserved that." 

Jack pulled the cork on the rum with his teeth. He spat it aside and took a deep swallow. "Fine way to start a resurrection." 

*** 

After that, Jack left Norrington to nurse his tea by the fire. After all, Jack had come ashore for a reason. There was no resin to be found in the Caribbean. The closest resin pine trees were some miles north and west of the Spanish Main. But there were other things Jack knew he could use in its place to help mend the small leak. He had plenty of sludge, and some tar that he had purchased as part of his stores and provisions before he set sail. He spent the better part of his day searching the island for fibers and husk to save the precious hemp he had. He didn't want to have to pick apart a fine rope yet. He then sat down some ways away from Norrington and began the task of pulling the fibers from a plant's husky bark he found further up in the islands forest. 

_~*~_

_Please note how far I have chosen to place myself from my new companion. Did I not tell you about wishes, mate? They don't come true just as you like them. Indeed, that would make the whole wishing process less interesting and more pedantic, which is to say, less magical and more boring. Savvy?_

_Certainly, I can merit better company than Norrington. Yes, he is easy on the eye, but he is the worst kind of treacherous. He's honorable._

_Now you see, when such as myself commits acts of treachery, it is only as most expect of me. I am, as you well know, a pirate. Therefore my enemies expect me to double-cross my friends, my friends take what I tell them as suspect at best, and those who just have a passing acquaintance try to keep it at that. It makes it easier for me to manipulate friends and enemies alike. If they expect you to lie and to sell them down the river, you should do so with a will... just don't do it in a manner that they expect and that sells them down the river too much. It works wonders on those bastards who think they are smarter than you, like Beckett._

_Now someone like Will Turner is far too honest to maneuver with such flexible cunning. He is either honest or treacherous. There is no gray area. If he cannot be honest, he will be honestly treacherous, which is a dangerous thing. His type is not well suited to treachery._

_Norrington is a different sort of animal all together. Not honestly treacherous, he is treacherous for honor. He will do whatever it takes to save face. It's a little different than what I will do to save me own neck. Saving one's own neck is a straightforward endeavor; almost predictable. Honor is a bit more ill-defined. It's that which can drive treachery beyond the reasonable to the excessive. Steer clear of his ilk, mate._

_And this is the companion of my wishes?_

_~*~_  

An hour before sundown, Jack put his fibers aside. Tomorrow he could make the oakum he would need to repair the bottom of the dinghy. He returned to the fire.

Norrington had tended the flames, apparently, and the fire crackled heartily. He continued to sit wrapped in the dingy gray blanket that Jack had given to him. His coat, however, now hung spread on a bush at the tree line, as did his waistcoat and shirt. 

"I suppose you don't have any proper provisions." 

Jack marveled at how the man could look down his nose at him from a seated position. 

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a rum-soaked imbecile, nor am I insane. Yes, Admiral Norrington, I have provisions." 

Jack reached for his satchel that he brought from the boat. In the leather pack was a jar with a thick, gray viscous fluid inside. 

"On tonight's menu is broth and biscuits." Jack opened the glass container and sampled the contents with a dirty finger. 

"That looks like slush, Sparrow." 

"Of course it's slush, Admiral. Add a dollop to water and let boil, it makes a rather nice broth... a bit salty, but it does satisfy." 

Norrington sighed. "Beggars cannot be choosers." 

Jack smiled at that. "An attitude that does you credit, sir." 

Jack sat down next to him at the fire taking the tin cup that had held Norrington's tea. He empted the dregs into the ash and rinsed it only once. He then filled it all the way with fresh water. 

He sat the cup back to the coals and picked up the slush jar. 

"You're my guest so the first cup is for you," he said with exaggerated care. He then let a rather large plop of the gray grease fall into the cup of water. The water sloshed over on the coals, making copious amounts of steam and smoke. Norrington coughed once. 

"Sorry, mate," Jack said, contritely. 

*** 

Jack watched as Norrington took a sip from his supper and grimaced.

"Salty is not necessarily a word I would use for this, Sparrow. Briny and foul seem much more appropriate." 

"Aye, it's strong at first. Best to dunk the biscuit in and eat it that way," Jack said as he crunched on another piece of hardtack himself and took a large swig of rum to wash it down. "We have plenty of biscuit." 

"Didn't you bring anything else?" 

Jack regarded the man coolly. "No. I stopped here to hunt and stock. You just happened to interrupt my restocking schedule." 

"My apologies for the inconvenience," Norrington replied dryly. "I'll see to it that any future resurrections I have comply with your routine." 

"Very well, then." Jack nodded, satisfied. "Now drink your supper." 

Norrington frowned at the cup and briefly made a face that Jack found both amusing and endearing. Oh, he had forgotten how endearing the dear Admiral could be, especially when he was put-out. Nevertheless, with only a brief hesitation, Norrington downed the rest of the broth, which only gave testimony to Jack to the man's state. Jack knew he should hunt or fish come morn to give them something more substantial to put in their stomachs. 

Norrington handed him back the cup. 

"Here," he said while trying to smooth the grimace his face was currently expressing. "Your turn." 

Jack took the cup back, looking it over with interest. "Just biscuit for me tonight. Had the broth yesterday. I dislike having the same supper the next evening." 

Jack sat the cup aside and looked back at Norrington. "Rum or water?" 

"Rum." 

Jack's eyebrows rose slightly. "Thought, mayhaps, you'd sworn off the drink... being an admiral and all now." 

"I'm not an admiral," Norrington sighed, looking into the fire. "Least not any longer... So you may stop addressing me as such." 

Jack said nothing to this but just passed the rum. He watched as Norrington took a substantial swig and did not hand the jug back right away. Jack watched him warily. 

"So you've had done with the navy again?" Jack said. 

"I chose a side," Norrington responded softly as his eyes looked into the heart of the fire. "It was the correct side, but it cost me my commission... and my life." 

Jack thought this over for a moment. Norrington seemed very resigned to his fate and yet, here he was: not at peace. "Seems to me, mate, your commission was tied to Beckett. Not your life." 

"Are you suggesting that is why I am here? Given this second chance?" 

"No one said anything about chances." Jack turned a brief smile at him. "And it was you who spoke of choices." 

"I did not choose to be on this pitiful spit of land with you, Sparrow." 

"Aye, you didn't," Jack replied brightly. "And yet here you are, all contrite and melancholy. Quite gloomy, in fact." 

"I was dead, Sparrow. And perhaps that would have been a mercy if I could have stayed such. What do I have left? No honor. No duty. No love... no one...." Norrington's voice trailed off. 

"For a man fresh from the grave, I find your will to live lacking." With that, Jack pulled the jug from Norrington's fingers. "Surrounded, as always, by people teeming with regrets. I imagine I am the only person I know who has yet to regret a single action I have taken... er... maybe that time in Singapore, but that was hardly my fault...."

"Do you lie to yourself as well, Sparrow, or is lying such a habit that you hardly realize when you do so?" Norrington looked at him once more. "Every man has regrets." 

"Would regret that wish, if I had made it," Jack replied petulantly. 

Norrington smiled, and it was a sad sort of smile that made Jack stop. In fact, it made Jack regret. 

"Alive again and still not wanted," Norrington said softly. He then settled back on the sand, pulling the blanket close about his shoulder. "Goodnight, Sparrow. Kill me in my sleep or abandon me if you please. Perhaps, if we are both lucky, I am only a phantom and will be gone come morn." 

Jack took a deep drink and sighed. "And only I can be granted the wish of a morose..." 

"...rum-pot deckhand that takes orders from pirates?" Norrington supplied from where he lay despondently on the sand. 

"Your words, mate." 

"They were yours first." 

Jack shrugged and took another drink, content to allow the man the last word. Norrington was quiet now; his eyes slowly closed. There was no profit in taking up a contrary position with him while he seemed well set to wallow in his own self-pity. However, as the light faded from the sky and the nighttime sky grew to that deep indigo that Jack so enjoyed, Jack watched the way the fire made shadows play across Norrington's proud and perfect features. 

"No one that pretty should lose the girl," he muttered to himself again. He watched the slight jump of flesh at the pulse point on Norrington's neck and wondered again about how fragile life was. 

Norrington was right. Jack had regrets. He had had a chance to review each of them as he spent time in the Locker. He had had the chance to examine his life from his first memory unto his last, and what he found was life full of adventure but lacking in something essential. It was elusive, this something. It wasn't love. Jack could have had love if he had wanted it. 

No love. That was Norrington's regret? Well, love was a waste of effort. He was yet to see how anyone ever profited from it. Certainly it had driven both Will and Elizabeth to some pretty disastrous decisions. He had even watched as so-called love had twisted Norrington away from his duty. In the grand scheme of looking out for one's own neck, love was the great foil. 

There was no one that Jack Sparrow would die for. He looked over Norrington's peaceful face. The man wasn't asleep yet; he couldn't be. James Norrington had died for someone. She had chosen a man of lesser means and certainly more humble origins and yet he had died for her. Or perhaps he had died for her cause, because he had realized too late that what he wanted had not been what Lord Cutler Beckett had wanted. 

"What did it feel like... to die?" Jack asked softly. 

Norrington's eyes opened slowly and focused on Jack's face from where he lay. "Being run through... was much like I imagined. It stole my breath. The pain was short; then I was numb. It was as if I had no body below where I'd been pierced. I had so many words, and no breath to express them... and I knew that those moments were my very last. I had no breath for words to spit back at Jones. I did the only thing I could do to express my sentiments." 

"You spat upon him," Jack guessed, giving Norrington a pleased look. 

"Of course not, Sparrow." Norrington glared up at him. "I'm not so crass, even at my end. I ran him through with my own blade." 

"Ineffectual, but certainly a strong statement." 

"But why would you need telling of how death feels if you had tasted it yourself?" 

"Ah, but my death wasn't of the normal violent, or even un-violent type. Jones claimed me body and soul, and after his rather impressive beastie swallowed me and the _Pearl_ whole, I don't remember aught else other than being in the Locker." 

"I recall nothing else after stabbing Jones," Norrington said, laying back and closing his eyes once more. 

"Did you die for her?" Jack asked carefully. "Did you die for love?" 

Norrington did not open his eyes but only smiled with a sad sigh. "No, I lived for love. I died for absolution." 

Jack took another deep drink and left Norrington to his sleeping. He continued to watch his handsome face reflected soft in the firelight until drink and exhaustion claimed his attention too.

_~*~_

_I am officially down to four full jugs of rum, and that is alarming, mate. I know I can make the most of it, but if Norrington decides to go on another "I'm a fallen navy-man" bender, we may be hard pressed. He only took two healthy swigs last night, and I should be thankful for that._

_I should not have made him feel so low. It's like kicking a hurt puppy. Captain Jack Sparrow does not kick wounded animals... unless they kick him first._

_He's still sleepin'. Look at him. That long jaw, that straight nose, that firm mouth, how can one man look so rigid and beautiful at the same time? He can make all those pretty features look like he has a bowsprit shoved firmly up his arse without looking obnoxious or petty. That takes some talent, to be sure._

_Well, no time to sit about gawking at the pretty. I've work to get to if I wish to leave this island and claim me prize._

_But one little thing._

_~*~_  

Jack shook Norrington awake. The man rolled towards him, his eyes blinking open in groggy surprise. Jack shoved the tin cup in his direction filled with shaving lather and a whisk brush. Norrington took the cup, clearly puzzled. Jack then handed him a small sharpened blade, his own boot knife.

"Shave," Jack ordered. 

Jack then stood and walked off towards his waiting boat without a backwards glance. He had a plan in place for today: hunt for food and then finish the project he started the day before. Jack checked the condition of his pistol before he pulled his small sack of extra powder and shot. Jack was a very good shot and knew he wouldn't need much if he found something worth shooting. It was only the very edge of the migratory season, so there may not be much more than doves and gulls. 

He supposed he could fish. He had tackle in the boat and it would be easier to set off a line and then get back to his other chores. He reached into the dinghy and pulled out his line and tackle. 

"Efficiency is at the heart of any successful venture, my dear Jackie." Jack muttered to himself as he carefully prepared the line. "Beginning to sound like ol' Teague." He giggled to himself. 

Jack looked back towards the small camp. The fire was ash and hot coals again, and James sat where he had left him, applying shaving lather to his chin. Jack smiled. 

*** 

The fishing was actually the easier part of the day. Making the oakum proved to be more difficult. The plant fibers were not as sturdy as hemp and in the end, Jack wound up cutting a length of his good rope and pulling it apart.

But he did manage to make some decent oakum that he used on a fourth of the boat's planking. He would go over the rest the next morning. It was afternoon now and he went down to the surf to wash his fingers and check his line. James was no longer next to the fire. He hadn't seen the man leave the camp, but his large, brocade coat and bright yellow waistcoat still hung from the bush near by. The white shirt was gone. 

Jack snorted as he considered where the man had gone, but turned back to pull in his line. He had had luck and a rather nice size crab had taken hold of the bug he had used for bait. 

"Ah ha!" Jack declared as he held up his catch. "Got you at last!" 

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't the same crab as the white crab he had chased along the sand a full day before. It was not the crab that had led him to Norrington. The crab made a furtive attempt to pinch him and Jack shook it with a small cry of dismay. He then looked back over at the camp to see if anyone witnessed his embarrassing outburst. Norrington was still missing. 

Jack's face drew into a frown as he wondered where the dear ex-admiral could be. 

"Hope he hasn't gone far. He still has me boot knife," Jack snarled to himself as he reached into the boat and pulled out a small battered pot and a fresh jug of rum. 

Back at the fire, he found his cup and brush clean, sitting on the blanket that James had been wrapped in the night before. The knife was conspicuously missing, as was Norrington. 

At this point, Jack was starting to feel concerned, which made him feel more than a little annoyed. He swore to himself, after the Locker, that he would never allow himself to care for another's welfare again, and what had he done since? To date, he had given Elizabeth the benefit of the doubt, given Barbossa a chance, and given up immortality to save Will's life. Now he was concerned about the welfare of the freshly resurrected James Norrington who had tried to hang him, chased him about the Caribbean during hurricane season, and repaid his generosity by stealing the heart of Davy Jones and giving it to Beckett, of all people. 

Pretty or not, Norrington was a bastard that was more trouble than he was worth. Yet Jack stood looking towards the tree line, considering looking for him. He reasoned that he at least needed his boot knife back. Nevertheless, before Jack could take step one, he saw a shadow moving among the thicker foliage. Then Norrington stepped out from the trees carrying deadfall and something small and bright. 

Norrington arrived at the camp dropping the deadfall near but not too close to the fire. The other item he pitched at Jack. Jack caught it, surprised to find it was a dove. There was a long cut in its chest just the right size for his boot knife. Jack looked at the bird, and then back up at Norrington, raising an eyebrow. 

"Good throw, mate." 

Norrington held out the knife to Jack, handle first. "I earn my keep, as you will recall." 

"I'm not keeping you," Jack said a little too softly. 

Norrington's head lifted in defiance, and Jack was struck by how beautiful he became when he was being bloody proud and brazen. "You have let me share your fire. You have shared your meager provisions." 

Jack shrugged, turning to the small pile of deadfall. He walked past Norrington to take up a few pieces to stir the fire back to life. 

"I'll not be beholden to a pirate," Norrington added in an angry hiss as Jack's back was to him. Jack straightened and turned. 

"You already are, mate," Jack said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. In fact, his eyes burned with a fury held in check. Jack swaggered back towards Norrington slowly, looking him up and down. 

"Pirates made you, Norrington. And pirates were your undoing. You rose up the ranks on the bones of pirates. You fell in love with a pirate. You took the side of a pirate. You died at the hand of a pirate. And now, you are alive... because of a pirate. So how are you going to validate yourself now? For all you have done, and been through, one might even say, you are a pirate now, savvy?" 

Norrington turned his head slowly to look at Jack, his cheeks stained with color. "So be it," was all he said. 

Jack pushed the dove back into Norrington's hands. 

"Dress that. I'll tend the fire." He started back to the wood but stopped suddenly and turned again. "I wonder why they call it dressing a bird. You are undressing it after all."


	2. Chapter 2

_~*~_

_I say again, let us not, dear friends, forget our dear friends the cuttlefish. Rum little creatures, flashing bright and beautiful at an enemy... or a friend... or both. Alluring patterns, to be sure, but a warning all the same._

_So here I sit at a fire with night coming on once more, and my dinner companion is still Norrington. Like a cuttlefish waiting to devour its mate._

_On the other hand, the dove is rather good. And I could spare a kind thought for him who has at least tried to be a help... if I thought it would do any good._

_~*~_  

"This is very good," Jack said at Norrington between steaming hot bites of roasted bird. The man merely looked up at him with a skeptical little frown. Jack continued undaunted. "See, now to some men, this be paradise: Nice little island with clear skies and calm waters, plenty to hunt and fish, rum and freedom."

"I thought the rum went without saying," Norrington let a slight smirk curl his lips. Jack grinned back in response. 

"Usually it does, but with you navy types, I'm never sure when it all needs to be spelled out." 

Norrington snorted a small laugh and looked out to the horizon. "Freedom," he said. 

"That's the easy part, mate," Jack said. Norrington looked back at him, his eyes still softened by his own thoughts. Jack's breath caught in his chest, for at that moment, with the firelight reflecting in his clear, green eyes, James Norrington was more than just beautiful. He was unearthly and bright. 

_~*~_

_So are cuttlefish, mate._

_~*~_  

Jack turned away with some difficulty. After a moment, Norrington spoke again.

"You knew Beckett?" 

"You could say that," Jack replied immediately but did not look up from his meal. 

"Your escape from the agents? Singapore?" 

Jack looked up at that. "He may have been there." 

"He was one of the seven?" 

"Not exactly." 

"He was... how you escaped." 

Jack grinned. "Cutty can be very generous when the mood strikes him. And he had a particular weakness... a taste for the lads." 

Norrington's mouth thinned to a tight line and color sprung to his cheeks again. 

"Ah, I see," Jack smile widened. "He came on to you, did he now? That I can see. A fine, handsome gent such as yourself, in need of his generosity..." 

"At least I deflected his advances politely." He looked Jack square in the eye. "I gather that as you were able to make such a miraculously clean escape, that you were not so kind." 

"If you are implying that I took the opportunity to commit a little sin with his lordship, I must take offense, sir." Jack straightened where he sat looking as indignant as he could. 

"You promised it and reneged," Norrington corrected. 

"Ah," Jack said brightly, lifting a finger to stop anything more Norrington had to add. "Promise is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? And although we struck an accord otherwise, I believe it was he who implied there would be other fringe benefits on top of what was agreed." 

"You stole the compass for him." 

"I obtained the compass, aye. But it was agreed that the usage would be to both our benefits..." 

"Please stop trying to justify yourself to me, Sparrow. It is giving me a headache." Norrington rubbed his forehead as if to illustrate the point. 

They sat quiet for a moment longer, then Jack pulled up the new jug of rum. "Neither one of us wants to admit how far we played the man's weakness, and you played it as sure as I did." 

He pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it to the ground beside him. Norrington said nothing, but simply stared at his own hands. 

"You let him touch you," Jack said softly. 

Norrington sighed. "After I returned with the heart and that letter of marque, he gave me hospitality. Allowed me to bathe and groom myself. I was feeling rather human again. He invited me to dinner. I expected him to discuss terms for my work as a privateer, advance payment and finance of a ship and crew. 

"He was very pleasant to me, and the evening went well. But I had noticed that all attempts made by me to steer the conversation towards business were smoothly deflected by the man. After dinner, in his study, I made my last attempt to bring forth the subject of our business together. 

"He poured me a glass of fine port. It was then, as he approached me that his hand slipped, seemingly on accident, to brush my flank and move slowly towards my... my..." 

"He took a handful of derriere," Jack supplied, taking another drink. 

Norrington cleared his throat. Jack offered the jug with a smile. Norrington took it, taking a very deep swallow. 

"I can guess the rest," Jack said plainly. "Although you did not encourage him, neither did you push him away. His hand got a little more bold, and that is when you questioned his actions. At that point, he laid it plain to you. The more you give, the more you get." 

"He promised he could secure me a knighthood if I went to his bed." 

"But you settled for a feel and an admiralty." 

Norrington looked up at Jack suddenly, his eyes burning bright with challenge. "And what did you give?" 

Jack looked down at the brand on his right arm. "More than what was agreed," Jack said dourly. Cutler Beckett liked giving. He especially enjoyed giving pain with pleasure. Jack had not been prepared for the brand, even as Beckett's hot mouth seared pleasure around his member. Blindfolded at Beckett's fancy, Jack had learned a sharp lesson that day about leaving oneself vulnerable even to supposed allies. 

"Freedom," Norrington stated knowingly, but didn't question further. 

Jack nodded. He had to agree. In the end, it had all been about freedom. Beckett had been far too greedy and entirely too full of his own entitlement. He thought Jack should have been grateful to him, even after the branding and betrayal. He expected his 'pretty bird' to fly back to his hand. Jack had taken the compass and lost himself to the seas again, not looking back once. The sea had always been his salvation. 

"I felt cleaner when I was a deck hand on the _Black Pearl_ ," Norrington admitted in a strained whisper. 

"Beckett does have that nasty habit of leaving a body feeling a bit soiled, as it were." 

Norrington touched his own lips briefly, but then moved his hand away quickly, his eyes shifting to Jack furtively then back down. 

So Norrington had let Beckett kiss him? Jack was struck with the idea. It intrigued him and angered him at the same time. Why it should anger him, he was not totally clear on. Obviously Norrington felt soiled by the contact, but that only made Jack more incensed. Jack paused for a moment longer, then reached his hand back Norrington's way in a plain gesture. 

Norrington looked at the outstretched hand for a moment, then tipped the rum back for another quick swallow before placing it back in Jack's possession. Jack took a far longer swig. 

It wasn't right to feel indignant at the thought of that feculent swine, Beckett, plundering Norrington's most delicious looking lips. It wasn't proper that Jack should feel irate that the man had touched Norrington in ways that Jack had only fancied in his wildest dreams. And so, Jack had to admit it to himself. 

_~*~_

_I want him. Infernal-pain-in-the-arse-that-cannot-be-trusted that he is, I want him. Was it no different for William with Elizabeth? I wonder._

_Aye and well, it is only want. Lust, some would call it. I have never lied to myself in acknowledging that he is very pretty indeed. However, that I would put aside all his treachery for need of him is beyond even me own limits. Elizabeth needed only to burn me once before I was done with lusting after her. James Norrington had burned me thrice and yet here I am, looking at him, knowing that I want him still._

_I am a pathetic pirate._

_~*~_  

Jack took another deep swallow of rum. "Well, mate, the man is dead, and with luck, in the farthest pit of hell where no wish or vengeful sea goddess can reach him."

Norrington did not look consoled, and Jack passed the jug back his way. He watched him as he took a swallow and then looked into the fire with an expression that would have moved even the coldest heart. Aye, Norrington lived in regrets, and that was why his soul was not at peace.

*** 

"I know what ye want, Jack. You wanted one who could be true. You wanted one to share your life. "

"Tia, darlin'." Jack smiled at the woman as she stood on the bright beach. The sands about her calico skirts were teeming with small white crabs. "I never asked..." 

"You secret heart done asked," she drawled with her painted smile. "You tink I don't hear you secret heart? Witty Jack! Him dat loves the brightest be worth more than any treasure. Win this prize... if ye dare!" 

Jack looked up the long beach, the white sand gleaming and almost too bright for his eyes. The sea was only a sound and a smell. He was aware of it with all his senses. He didn't know where the sun was. He was sure it was somewhere in the sky, but he was disorientated, turned about. It was bright as midday, but he was sure it was not. 

Tia Dalma was no longer standing before him, but where she had stood, several small white crabs shuffled back towards the surf. Jack saw one as it reached the breaker sparkle against the white crest of foam. 

"Him shines like the brightest diamond." Her voice seemed to come to Jack from the very rush of the waves. "Treasure worth the 'avin'." 

*** 

Jack awoke wondering about the state of his mind that he should have such a dream. He shook himself free of the memory of it and contemplated doing something about the condition of his mouth.

Norrington was not where he left him, snoozing off a mild drunk on his spare blanket, but this time, Jack was not concerned. The man was probably off relieving himself or some such business. 

Upon standing, Jack noticed his little cooking pot still sitting where he had left it. Looking inside, he found his crab friend still rested at the bottom. Jack shuffled barefoot down to the surf carrying the pot. The waves were cool on his toes, and he tipped the pot, setting the crustacean free. 

"There you are little beastie, and never let it be said that Captain Jack Sparrow did not show mercy. The bird was already dead." 

A flash of color out of the corner of his eye drew his attention back towards the camp. Norrington was returning, and he now wore his blue jacket with its heavy brocade. Jack smirked wickedly. That ensemble was bound to get hot during midday. 

He watched as the man fiddled about the camp, picking up this and examining that. He seemed to be gathering up tools. Abruptly, he marched away back into the trees. 

Jack stood wondering, his smirk turning into a thoughtful frown. His feet were moving even before he had though about what he wanted to do next. He stomped back up to the camp, scanning about at what Norrington had been picking through. His eyes fell upon his boots, sitting just where he had left them the night before. Upon further inspection, he notice a certain lack of boot knife. 

"Bugger," he muttered; then sat to brush the sand from his feet and put on his boots. He couldn't imagine what Norrington was up to. That fact alone made him nervous. He stood, looking off into the trees the way the former admiral had gone. With a put-upon sigh, Jack squared his shoulders and headed inward. 

The light was reduced in the denser canopy. Above him were birdsong and the hazy buzz of insects. Jack pushed deeper in. The terrain began to slope upward. Ahead, Jack knew there was a freshwater pool that was fed from a spring on higher ground. The island was close enough to the British territories that it could almost be considered one of those same islands, but it was smaller, and well overlooked by most. 

The pool ran out to a stream that went to the sea. Jack followed the stream, surrounded by lush rainforest that smelled as fresh and unspoiled as it looked. It was a pleasant little island, but hardly a secret to the buccaneer types in these waters. Jack was certain that the safety of his sojourn here would be limited once Barbossa had scoured every inch of Tortuga for him and Feng's chart. 

Well, he could make it one more day at the most. He would have his dinghy ship-shape, and he could be on his way. 

But what of Norrington? 

It really was not his concern what happened to the man. By all rights, he should be long dead. 

"So should I," Jack murmured to himself as he pushed past a thick fern. "Bloody bad timing for the man to just... show up!" Jack gestured wildly to no one. 

Beyond the small rock outcropping that connected to a moss-covered cliff face that made up the low ridge beyond which the water's source was located, Jack spotted the small rocky clearing beside the pool. Beside the water's edge sat a collection of items: the tin cup, the two empty rum jugs, and all of Admiral Norrington's clothing that was not currently gracing the drying bush. In the pool, in waist-deep water, and with his back to Jack, stood Norrington, his white skin glowing with beads of moisture, his wet hair tied neatly back from his face with a simple black ribbon. Jack ducked back a bit to watch. 

The sunlight glinted calico through the dense canopy. A golden beam of light rested on Norrington's shoulder making his skin glow softly. The man turned his head, looking down the length of his own arm; his perfect, noble and fine profile was caught in the golden light. His hand went to his own chin. His other hand was out of Jack's view, but Jack could tell what he was up to by the deliberate motions that were echoed in the flexing muscles of his shoulders. 

"He's shaving," Jack whispered bemused. But as he sat and watched, a warm feeling seemed to come over him from head to toe, making his shoulders un-tense and his brow to ease. Jack was unaware of the sweet and simple smile that came to his own lips as he watched Norrington finishing up this small task. Jack would not have admitted so much to himself, but in that fleeting moment, it felt as if James Norrington was giving him, Jack Sparrow, a precious gift. 

Jack had told him to shave; Norrington continued to oblige. Jack slid back from his hiding spot and headed back to the beach. There was much he wanted to do today. 

*** 

He finished the boat, and sat staring at it, wondering what he should do next. It was not that he did not know what to do; he knew everything he wanted to do. His problem was figuring out in what order to do all the items on his lengthy 'to-do' list. 

_~*~_

_What do I want to do? I want to leave this bloody piece of rock and get underway. Hector will be bearing down on me soon enough, and although I have the chart, Barbossa is a sly bastard. He'll know just how to look for me. I can't continue to take my chances... and yet..._

_I shouldn't feel this way. I don't want to just leave him here. All alone. Feeling like the rejected piece of flotsam... Which for all intents and purposes, he actually fits the description of..._

_Damn you Mr. and Mrs. William Turner! It was easier to turn me back and think of me own neck before the likes of you two!_

_Ah, but I've had too much time to consider me own life now. Is it 'What do I want to do?' or is it 'What do I want?'_

_~*~_  

Jack fished until sunset, bring in one rather nice looking if somewhat small snook which he cleaned and filleted, wrapping in broad leaves to cook in the coals of the smoldering fire. He watched James return to their camp, his coat bundled over his shoulder like a satchel. Upon opening the coat, several ugli fruit rolled out.

"Hm..." was Jack's only remark. 

Dinner was a silent affair: Fish and fruit and clean-shaven, morose company. It wasn't until Jack passed the rum that Norrington spoke. 

"You are leaving soon." 

Jack didn't respond, and Norrington took a healthy swallow. 

"Then you may grant me a single boon, Sparrow, being it is because of your ill-luck in wishing that I am here, and I'm fairly certain that I am correct in assuming that you will abandon me here as well." 

Jack frowned. "I'm not sure I care for what your assumptions about me imply, mate." 

"That you're a pirate?" 

Jack's frown deepened. "No! Well, yes... but no! You see now, there are pirates and then there are pirates. Now, if ye are looking for mean, ignorant scallywags with scraggly beards that would slit your throat as soon as look at you, then you want the likes of Hector Barbossa." 

"Are you trying to tell me that you are different, Sparrow?" 

"One would think that given what you have experienced of me, you would see that." 

Norrington tilted his head considering. "Let me see... upon our first meeting you held a woman hostage..." 

"Only after you put a sword in my face and threatened my life after I selflessly saved the same woman!" 

"You stole one of my ships..." 

"I thought we already discussed this point. I commandeered your ship. I would have returned it... eventually... maybe. But that is beside the point. It was all for a good cause, right?" 

"You sank it!" 

"I protest that claim, sir!" Jack sat up indignantly. "I was not aboard the Interceptor when she was scuttled! I was a prisoner of Barbossa and his undead hellions!" 

"It is still your fault!" Norrington hissed. 

"And you are still holding me responsible for more than I am guilty of!" Jack roared back. 

Norrington's back stiffened, and he looked as affronted as a man who had been slapped. 

The fierce scowl Jack knew he was wearing melted before realization. His voice came out kinder. "You can't go on like this. She really tore you. Let it go." 

"I thought I had," Norrington said before he took another drink. 

"No," Jack said thoughtfully. "You gave up. Not the same thing, mate." 

Norrington's head dropped, defeated, and Jack watched; the pain mirrored in his own eyes. He had told him to shave, and for two whole days, Norrington had honored his request. This was the second time that Jack had asked him to let the dream of Elizabeth Swann go. 

_"Him dat loves the brightest be worth more than any treasure. Win this prize... if ye dare!"_

"But what was this boon you would be needin'?" Jack asked re-capturing the rum from Norrington's slackened grip. 

Norrington took a breath, and the let it out as if he found he had no words to use it for. There was a long pause and Jack had been about to say something else when Norrington at last spoke. 

"How did you meet Lord Cutler Beckett?" 

Jack gave the man his most devilish smirk. "Ah, so you want the story of me life, eh? Understandable. I am Captain Jack Sparrow. You just can get to all the fun stuff by reading warrants and arrest reports. I suppose ol' Cutty mentioned me?" 

"Only to tell me that you were the best fuck he ever had," Norrington replied dryly. 

Jack's smile widened. "So nice to be remembered kindly." He took another swallow of rum and then cleared his throat. "How did I meet dear Cutty? It's hard to explain without going over all of it. It truly is the story of me life, savvy?" 

"If you will, Sparrow," Norrington asked tiredly. 

Jack smiled at the man. "Teague Sparrow was quite the infamous pirate lord, and at the height of his success, he had seven ships in his command. Each of them was the envy of all, from his flagship to his smallest sloop. However, none was more bonny than the crown jewel of his small fleet, the fastest ship what said sailed the seas, the _Black Pearl._ He left the command of the Pearl to his most profitable collaborator, Hector Barbossa. However, he promised his son when he came of age, that he would have a ship of his own to command, and that ship could be any one of his choosing from the fleet. 

"Of course, lit'l Jackie had his heart set on the _Black Pearl_ and Barbossa be damned. Teague made the promise that upon Jackie's twentieth birthday, the _Black Pearl_ would be his. Jackie said, 'Oh, goody,' and went about his merry way in the family business of pillaging and plundering at Da's command. Well, before Jackie could claim his ship, Barbossa ran afoul of the worst of the Barbary merchant fleets, armed to the teeth. Hector survived, badly wounded, and that's why he limps to this very day, but the _Pearl_ drowned off the coast of Africa. 

"Teague was not happy, but being a rather sanguine and mellow realist at that point in his life, he simply sat back to play his sitar and contemplated how much worse the loss could have been. He decided to quit while he was ahead, so to speak, and handed over the piece of eight to his son, braiding it into his hair." Jack's hand went up absentmindedly to reach for the now missing short braid that had the small Spanish coin on its end that always hung from over his red headscarf. 

"But he had no promised Pearl to give his son. All the other ships in his fleet would not do. Now, you would think ol' Jack would just ask Teague to finance him a new ship just as good, if not better than the _Black Pearl_ , but no. Jack was rash and young and his heart belonged to the _Pearl_ from the first time he climbed her rigging at the tender age of six. She was more than a ship, she was his childhood friend and his family home. He swore he'd find a way to get her back." 

"As intriguing as this all is, Sparrow, it doesn't feel as if it will eventually answer my question," Norrington said with soft incredulity. 

"Aye, but it will, mate. Everything leads back to the _Pearl_." Jack's gaze narrowed emphatically. He took another couple of swallows of rum and then continued. "Thoroughly disgruntled and demoralized, young Jack sought his fortune in the Orient, Singapore was a land of opportunity, and Jack knew of a young pirate lord who needed navigators. Sao Feng was not known for his kindness, but he was known for rewarding those who served him well. Jack figured he had nothing to lose and everything to gain by spending a few years in the man's employ.

"Well, one fine day while he was at port in Singapore, he was drinking in one of the more mellow dockside taverns... and when I say mellow, I mean a man could expect only one or two homicides a night... when a lad walked in who clearly did not belong. Dressed in fine waistcoat, a coat of sable, silk cravat, powdered wig and silver-handled walking stick, he looked such the over-exaggerated easy mark that no one paid him any mind. They thought him some sort of cursed trap. Well, imagine Jackie's surprise when the dolting little popinjay walked up to him, sat himself down at Jack's table and bought him a fresh bottle of rum. 

"The creature was talking at him with that smooth, unhurried voice of his, telling him that he needed a man for a job... a simple job at that. He introduced himself as Lord Cutler Beckett, having recently claimed the title after his father's unfortunate demise." Jack made a face. "I wonder still if the little bastard did his own father in. 

"Well, never mind that," Jack remarked cheerfully. "Apparently, Beckett's father had had dealings with Sao Feng and had been given information about the existence of certain items that existed in the world that defied the material nature of things. Beckett wanted a compass. Feng didn't have it, but Feng had the means to find it, a charm that would call you to the audience of the owner. From there, you could barter it from her, if you dared." 

"You took Beckett's job," Norrington said. 

"It seemed very lucrative at the time." Jack smiled. "Tricked Sao Feng's younger sister to let me look at the charm. Cute lit'l music box locket in the shape of a heart with a woman's face on it. I opened it. It played a sad little song, then I met dear Tia Dalma." 

"The owner of the compass." 

"Aye." 

"The barter?" 

Jack's smile grew wider. "She wanted me to carry a message to the man she loved. Not as easy a task as it looked. Davy Jones can be a hard man to find when you are young and healthy. But Tia gave me the compass to help. She trusted me, and back then, I was young and stupid enough to be trustworthy. Ye'd think I'd learned nothing at me Da's knee! 

"I found the man, after five years of near-death experiences. The message was simple: it was the locket. It affected him badly and I threatened to take it away, but he stopped me. He seemed pretty desperate for it. He wanted it, and he offered me my heart's desire. Go on and guess what I wished for." 

" _The Black_ _Pearl_ ," Norrington said plainly. 

"Aye, and he raised her from the deep, right before me very eyes. He gave me thirteen years to be her captain, but in the end, there was a price to be paid." Jack sat back, casually regarding Norrington's frown for a small moment before he continued. 

"My brain was moving so fast at that moment, mate, that there might have been sparks flyin' from me ears. I knew I could maneuver around any cost. I was Teague Sparrow's boy! I was Captain Jack Sparrow!" 

Jack toasted himself and took a good swallow before giving the bottle back to Norrington and encouraging him to drink as well. 

"I came home the conquering hero to Beckett. I had the compass and I had my own ship. I hoped Cutty would help me finance a crew for the next venture." 

"Did he?" 

"Of course not," Jack replied matter-of-factly. "Instead, he sent me off on another little fetch and carry mission. His father's book that had that had been a gift from Feng. It contained all that information I mentioned earlier. Well, it was in the hands of the other partners of the East India Trading Company. Beckett wanted sole control of it, without his esteemed colleagues being the wiser. 

"Your escape from the seven agents," Norrington said knowingly. 

"Yes, would have been a clean thing too if Cutty hadn't decided to try and make me a scapegoat." 

"He turned on you?" 

"After I delivered the goods," Jack replied. He touched his brand as he looked into the fire. "But I got out. Took the compass and what gold I thought he owed me and I left. Brought enough crew to get me back to me Da's cove. Came home like a returning prince on me beloved _Pearl_." Jack sighed at the happy memory. 

"That's quite a story, Sparrow," Norrington said. "Isla de Muerte was in that book?" 

"One of the few pages I glimpsed before Beckett locked it away from me. Figured that would be enough swag to keep me comfortable for a long time, but I needed a good crew first." Jack laughed and looked down. "But that's another story, mate, and you know how that one ends." 

"Another ten years without your ship," Norrington said softly as he reached for the rum. Jack pulled it back from his grasping fingers. 

"Aye." 

"And you were Beckett's lover," Norrington added, looking at Jack with a thoughtful frown. 

Jack frowned back, but slowly allowed it to soften. "Surely one such as yourself, the renowned Pirate Hunter, must be versed on the ways of the brethren. Wenches on the high seas were considered impractical at best and cursed at worst. Most considered them only good enough for sacrifices to the angry sea gods. Purely a waste, mate." 

"Sodomy and sailors tend to go hand in hand," Norrington agreed grimly. 

"Ah, you do see then," Jack smiled once more. "Even me Da's love of his life was not me mum. T'was an ol' salt called Mick; gave me the best advise of me young life. He said, 'Jack, you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just may find you get what you need.'" 

"Did you ever love someone so deeply?" Norrington asked, and the question took Jack by surprise. He thought about it, and then took a deep swig of rum. 

"Can't say as I have, mate. I've always been focused on other things. But there are plenty that I have found to be pretty and pleasant company." 

"I'm not certain that what I felt was love," Norrington said softly. "But I always assumed that I would never be certain of love. It was not something a man could quantify. Elizabeth was beautiful and agreeable, and I admired her sharp mind. Her spirit was a little daunting, but I figure that it was for the better that I try to tame a spirited lass than be bored with some placid creature." 

"I can truly see your point, mate," Jack said, saluting him with the rum. He looked over at Norrington only to find the man quietly laughing. 

"What?" Jack asked. 

"I'm trying to imagine a young and trustworthy Jackie Sparrow," Norrington said in an amused tone. 

Jack frowned again. "Well don't sprain something while you are at it, lad. Remember, I killed my first man while you were still clingin' to your mum's skirts. And that is Captain Jackie... er, Jack Sparrow still to you." 

"Are you really so afraid to let people see you as anything other than a crazy pirate?" 

"Have you let anyone see you as anything other than a stick-up-his-arse military fiend? Well, other than that short stint as a rum-soaked, stick-up-his-arse ex-military fiend." Jack retorted. 

Norrington did not look insulted; instead, he smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, I suppose I have not. Perhaps that is why Elizabeth preferred William Turner over me. I was polite. I was attentive. But I was always the naval officer who came to call, and not just James. Through most of our courtship, she addressed me as 'Captain.' I hadn't even noticed until I achieved the rank of commodore. Only then did I think to ask her to call me James." 

"Sad statement to your state of mind, mate." Jack now handed over the rum, like a consolation prize. "You could say that we were a bit alike then: focused on other things." 

"Yes," Norrington said quietly and then took a drink. 

"James..." Jack said just as softly. 

Norrington looked up from his drink, his eyebrows raised in a questioning glance. 

Jack laughed. "I didn't know your name before." 

"It is nothing remarkable; just a good Christian name." 

"Works best on you though, luv." 

"You are flirting, Sparrow." 

"I am at that." Jack chuckled. "I do so enjoy a pleasant amount of flirting... probably as much as you enjoy a goodly amount of dry sarcastic wit." 

"I doubt my wit presents itself as half as obnoxious." James rolled his eyes briefly. 

"Ah, but same as you, I endure bearing the brunt of it. I reckon that makes us square... like my telling you the story of my life and you telling me the story of your death.... Square, you see." Jack grinned. 

"No." 

"Now you are just being difficult, dear James." 

"Did I give you leave to be so familiar with me?" 

"You now know that Beckett buggered me three ways till Sunday, and you want to split hairs over Christian names?" 

"You are impossible, Sparrow! And wholly irredeemable." 

"Let's sing songs!" Jack said, changing the subject abruptly with a bright, and near manic smile. "Do you know any good songs? Elizabeth... Oo! Excuse me! Miss Swann now Mrs. Turner, taught me a great lit'l ditty..."

"Sparrow!" 

"Oooooooooo-Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for meeee!" 

"Jackie?" 

"Oi!" 

"I thought that would get your attention." Norrington said with a satisfied smirk. 

Looking more than slightly affronted, Jack blinked at the man. 

"If you may call me James, that must give me leave to call you Jackie. Am I correct?" 

"Jack! Jack! The name is Jack." Jack snatched the rum back from James' hands. "You've had too much of this." 

"Hardly. Sparrow, you are not the only man on the earth who can hold his liquor." 

Jack's grimace turned immediately to a playful grin as he registered the challenge in Norrington's tone. "I've seen you drunk, as you'll recall. You weren't holding much of anything, not drink, words, or smell." 

"And let us see you try to hold back a rebellious stomach after going in head first with the hogs? I stood my ground." 

"You smelled funny." 

Norrington snatched the bottle back and took a swift, deep drink. "You just smell, always!" 

"Aye, but my smell be honest sweat; not local pig pen." Jack took the bottle back and took his own deep swallow. 

When Norrington reclaimed the bottle with a derisive snort, tipping it back immediately for a long determined gulp, Jack smiled, totally entranced and lost in admiration for the man's fire. For all his cool, controlled aloofness, James Norrington was a passionate spirit barely held in check. It was little wonder he seemed the angry drunk before. Drinking helped to loosen the reserve and bring the passions all to the surface. Jack was certain that under the correct circumstances, James could be a joyful drunk, a playful drunk or a downright amorous drunk just as easily. 

Nevertheless, the man was fragile and his moods volatile at this juncture. One wrong move and Jack would be saddled all evening with a morose drunk. Having already had more than enough of a morose Norrington, Jack decided to make it a goal to see those other, more pleasant drunks James Norrington had harboring inside his breast. 

"But I can honestly say," Norrington intoned determinedly after he finished his drink, "that I have bathed more in one month than you have in two years!" 

Jack took the bottle back with a small pout. "I've been kinda busy, mate." 

"Judging by the number of flea bites on your person, so have the vermin in your unwashed hair." 

Jack's pout turned to a frown but he knew better to be baited into an angry shouting match with the man. It was time to pour on the charm more-so and flirt like there was no tomorrow. 

"Now I am hurt! My hair harbored no greater number of vermin than your own wig, I'm sure... And those are not flea bites. They are goose flesh. I'm a bit chilled." 

"It was sweltering all day, Sparrow, and now we sit next to a bonfire; yet you tell me that you are chilled." 

"I am very hot blooded, mate. Doesn't take much." Jack smiled and wiggled his brows suggestively. Norrington snorted, but caught himself before he let the guffaw completely come out. Instead, he took back the bottle for his turn at draining the rum. 

"Hot blooded or no, it could not hurt you to apply soap and water to your flesh a bit more often." 

"I'll concede with you there," Jack said with a look of general satisfaction. "By the by, shaven is a far nicer look on you." 

"Thank you," Norrington replied sincerely. "It is far more comfortable, as well. I thank you for supplying me with the tools to keep myself at least marginally groomed." 

Jack let his smile be as flirtatious as possible, putting as much naughty-come-hither into his eyes as he could. He watched Norrington's face go a slight shade darker in the fire's light, but his green eyes glittered unlike ever Jack had seen them before. 

Norrington took another deep swig. 

"Aht! Out of turn!" Jack reached for the jug, still smiling his simply wicked smile. 

"A pirate practicing turn and turn about? I thought good form and fair play were not conducive to successful pirating." 

"They aren't," Jack agreed as he took back the rum. "But that stuff is good for sharing rum... and other pleasures." 

Norrington's gaze dropped suddenly and he cleared his throat, looking somewhat uneasy, but certainly not upset. Jack offered the rum back with an agreeable smile that was a bit more lighthearted than flirtatious. He was getting somewhere. 

And they continued to drink, Jack engaged Norrington in semi-pleasant conversation of subjects he knew they could agree upon: sailing, the color blue, toast and jam, good weapons, and hideous sea monsters they had encountered. He kept Norrington going until he noticed the slight slur to the man's words. 

"...And, I tell you, it was huge! Not unlike those beasts they say inhabit the rivers of the Spanish territories. Scaly and dragon-like, with a monstrous maw full of the largest sharp-pointed teeth!" 

"It's just a reptile, Sparrow... like the kind you may encounter in Africa and India... not a sea monster." 

"You come face to muzzle with it and tell me that again, mate... By the way, why not call me Jack?"

"Because then I would be tempted to call you Jackie," Norrington stopped a slight chuckle before it took the last shred of his precarious dignity away. He took another drink. 

"Mayhaps I could forgive the occasional slip as long it be only between ourselves." 

"Then you would insist upon calling me James." 

"Would that be so disagreeable?" 

Norrington straightened his spine and looked down his nose at Jack. "It would be highly improper. You are a pirate. I am a..." Then he seemed to remember that he was no longer any of those things that he once was that would have made their familiar association improper; so, instead he finished by echoing Jack's words. "I could forgive the occasional slip as long it is only between ourselves." 

Jack scooted closer to Norrington as he reached for the rum. "Then we are settled? I call you James and you call me Jack?" 

"If it will make you feel like you have accomplished something... Jack...." Norrington said as dryly as his intoxication allowed. 

Jack smile brightly, once more turning on the flirtatious charm and smoldering appeal. This time, Norrington, a little slower on the uptake as intoxication impeded his reaction time, did not shy away. Instead, he looked Jack squarely in the eyes. 

"Are you flirting with me again, Spar... Jack?" 

"Does it make you uncomfortable, James?" Jack asked in a lower, husky tone. 

Norrington frowned slightly as he thought this out. "It did... but it doesn't. I expect it of you now." 

"Have I become predictable?" 

"No!" Norrington chuckled. "Predictable is not an attribute one could easily pin to you. You are a rascal, a scoundrel and a knave, but you are not predictable." 

"You're mixing your metaphors, Jamie lad. Time to go a little slower on the rum." 

Norrington did snort this time and allowed the hearty guffaw to roll from him. "Now you correct my grammar! A man who occasionally has trouble applying the verb 'to be' corrects my grammar." 

"And you question what is correct pirate behavior in me almost as much. A body would think you would be refreshed to hear that I understand such concepts as good form and fair play." 

"I never said you didn't understand them. I merely stated that practicing such seemed hardly in character for you." 

"Shows how little you know about my character." 

"Indeed, Sparrow... um... Jack. I know next to nothing of your character. I only know of your crimes." 

"Exploits, I prefer to call them exploits." 

"Call them what you will. They are quite telling, in and of themselves," James declared quite assuredly. 

"What, pray, have they told you, James?" Jack asked leaning in a smidgen closer, allowing his voice that husky tone once more. 

"They have told me that you are a self-serving scoundrel who is not to be trusted." 

"Have they really?" Jack smiled. "I assumed with Beckett adding to the tales, they could have told you far more than that." 

"Beckett only spoke to me of the crimes I was already aware of." 

"Aye, but he spoke of my sins as well," Jack said. "To me, the sins and the crimes both fall under the term exploits. There is much more to know about me, James." 

It seemed as if only then did Norrington notice how intimately close Jack had moved into his personal space. He cleared his throat softly, but refused to give up ground. Jack was counting on the man's stubborn resolve in this little game. 

"You assume I wish to know more," Norrington replied in a slightly strained voice. He cleared his throat again. 

"I think it is a valid assumption." Jack moved, leaning in that final few inches, his lips brushing lightly across Norrington's own. He was prepared for the man to stiffen and move away, but he hoped that he would not all the same. He got his wish. 

Norrington only stiffened, his eyes opening wider in shock and then blinking for a moment as the soft kiss continued. Jack pulled back only a bare fraction to look into his eyes. 

"See, there you are." He smiled as he raised a hand to tenderly run a finger along James clean shaven jaw. "Interested. I bet it was better than any treatment you received at Beckett's hands." 

"I... I'm..." 

"Not sure?" Jack's smile widened. "Then we shall have to see to your uncertainty." 

This time Jack's lips came down firmly on James' claiming with a swift yet tender regard. Norrington still did not move away, nor did he move in any direction. Nevertheless, Jack was confident in the prowess of his own kiss. He let his lips move smoothly over Norrington's, tasting him with the softest flick of the tip of his tongue. This caused a small tremor to move through Norrington's body. Jack's lips open to take in James' lower lip. He sucked on it lightly as he let his hand reach about his neck to hold him close. He let his fingers stray into James' hair, massaging in ever so small movements, and he watched through a hooded gaze as James' own eyes slid shut. 

Slowly, oh so heart-breakingly slowly, James began to relax into the kiss, melting like ice against bright winter sunshine. Yes, Jack reckoned James was like ice, indeed. But Jack was hot blooded. 

James melted until his lips were pliant to Jack's. He did not kiss back, but the way in which he allowed himself to be kissed was delicious all the same. Jack just knew that Beckett never knew this soft surrender and quiet sweetness. Jack pulled back once more. 

"Now then," he whispered against James' lips. "Much better than Beckett, I'll wager." Jack brought his other hand to James' face now, running his fingers lightly over his now kiss-swollen lower lip. 

"Please stop mentioning that man's name," James spoke in an urgent whisper. 

"Aye, luv. As you wish," was Jack's whispered reply; then they were kissing once more, and James lips stirred to life against Jack's own. He kissed back only lightly, tentatively, but he allowed himself to be far more pliable. Jack soon had him bent back, lowering him slowly to the soft sand, his lips never disengaging in the warm and now mutual caress. James' lips opened ever so slightly and Jack pressed his advantage, slipping his tongue into the wondrously, rum-sweet mouth beneath him. James let out a very soft moan that could have been a sigh. The sound of it sent a flash of heat down Jack's spine to settle pleasantly in his loins. Jack answered the moan with one of his own as his tongue danced softly about James'. 

Jack loved kissing. He enjoyed the intimacy of it: the touch of lips and tongues, dancing in a sweet mimic of intercourse. He loved the press of a hot body to his own as he explored the softness of flesh with his mouth. And, at that moment, he could honestly say that he loved kissing James Norrington, mostly because the man gave it up so prettily: the high color on his cheeks, the soft flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes would slit open from time to time, giving Jack a small glimpse of green fire, and those lovely kiss-bruised lips, so red and delightful. But after a moment, as Jack took the time to sample James' lower lip a little longer than he had before, he noticed that James had grown a little too still. 

Jack released the kiss, looking down on him bemused. James' eyes remained closed, and his sweet lips were still softly parted. Jack frowned as a very breathy, soft snore escaped James. 

Passed out. 

"It was just getting interesting too," Jack groused as he continued to watch the man. But as he watched, his eyes traveling over his still form, Jack's gaze locked on the smooth curve of James' beautiful throat. The urge struck him, as often this particular urge did, to sample the taste of it. As always, the urge was too compelling to deny. 

He lay the flat of his tongue at the very base of his throat, right at his collarbone, and ran it slowly up, across skin, only slightly roughened by the first traces of a beard's new growth. His tongue curved along the arch of James' neck as it traveled upward until the tip lay against the warm throb of his pulse. Jack paused to examine the sensation. Each beat sent an enthralling, hot vibration through his tongue. Most enjoyable indeed. Jack rose up again to look at the man, his salty taste pleasantly in Jack's mouth. 

It was the first time in a long time he had liked what he licked.


	3. Chapter 3

Cold sober gained a new meaning when the first fat rain drop fell on Jack's forehead at what should have been the break of dawn. The first one woke him, but it was the three hundred and twenty that fell on him within the next half-second that roused him from where he lay on the sand, sprawled next to Norrington.

"Bloody hell!" Norrington groaned as he too quickly rose. 

Jack kicked himself for not knowing better. He should have anticipated inclement weather and at least built a small, light shelter. Instead, he and James scrambled back to the tree line, grabbing their coats and wet blankets. They huddled under the thickest spot of foliage with coats thrown over their heads. 

"Bloody bugger!" Jack growled. He had planned to set sail that morn, but the dark sky and the wind-driven rain told him that he would have to postpone. The dark clouds lined the way to the horizon, and Jack figured they wouldn't see a break in this weather until afternoon. 

"You cannot set sail in that." James' voice came to Jack as a soft murmur. Jack turned to look at the man. James was not looking at him, but was looking ahead, towards the small camp, the remnants of the fire hissing steam at the downpour. Jack's leather satchel of provisions and the corked rum jug sat where he left it. James' gaze was flat and enigmatic. 

Jack had to wonder what was going through that lovely, green-eyed head of his. He had to wonder how much of the previous night did he remember and how much did he regret? 

"It'll let up soon enough." 

"Then you will be on your way," Norrington turned cool green eyes towards him. Jack did not reply. What was there to say? He wasn't sure what James' tone meant anyhow. Was that scorn in there? Was he miffed at being left to fend for himself? Or perhaps it was anticipation, and James couldn't wait to be relieved of the pirate's company. 

Either way, James would be on the island. It was good enough reason to consider constructing, at the very least, a small shelter. 

"Come on, mate," Jack said rising, the coat over his head heavy with rain. "We need to build a lean-to." 

"A little after the fact, don't you think, Sparrow?" 

"Better late than never," Jack replied with a grim, little smile. He started gathering whatever large fallen branches he could spy in the underbrush about them. 

_~*~_

_So we are back to 'Sparrow,' are we?_

_I have no doubt in me mind that this lovely little squall, complete with wind and lightning, is complements of one Tia Dalma, a.k.a. Calypso. A lovely way to secure a postponement to my departure. Not that I was in such a hurry any longer to leave... not just yet as things have started to develop here that are far more intriguing for the moment._

_Yes, Barbossa will be looking for me, but he'd be hard pressed to see me tiny self on this island in this weather. And he ought not to bring the Pearl too close in or he would find himself shelved on a reef. I think I could stay just a day more._

_~*~_  

They were soaked through by the time Jack was satisfied with the shelter. James, on the other hand, remained unsatisfied for a while longer and forced them out to gather more green palm fronds to weave into it. He also insisted that all fronds point in one direction: down the slope of the lean-to. He said it helped direct the water away from the occupants. Jack was almost sure that it didn't matter, but it was to be James' shelter after he was long gone and away, so he didn't argue the point.

Jack was wrong about the weather. The rain continued into the evening. They lit a tiny fire, as close into the lee of their shelter as they dared. The fed it with as much dry underbrush as they could find under the nearby bushes and trees. 

James set out for a bit and returned with more fruit for supper. Jack, however, decided slush broth and biscuit was a rainy day kind of meal. He filled his tin cup with rain water and prepared the salty broth. The rum jug made a reappearance. There was only a fourth of its volume left. Fortunately, Norrington waved it away when offered. 

Yes, it was fortunate, but at the same time, Jack was disappointed. He knew James would not loosen up as he had the previous night without a healthy dose of rum. Jack was interested in meeting, once again, that nice young man who allowed him to kiss him until he sighed. Jack made due by drinking alone and tending the small fire. It was dark long before sunset due to the cloud cover and Norrington sat huddled to himself on one side of the shelter. He had barely put more than three words together for most of the evening; However, Jack was only mildly surprised to hear this sentence aimed at him. 

"I didn't let you kiss me to move your sympathy for me." 

Jack turned to face him. "I didn't think you did, mate." Jack offered the rum once more and James warded it off with a hand and a shake of his head. 

"Go on. I promise not to kiss you once you've liquored up." 

"Do not make idle promises, Sparrow. And it is not you whose conduct I am concerned about." 

Jack smiled at this but only received an answering glower from James. 

"And I thought we had agreed: Jack and James," Jack said a little petulantly. 

"Yes, I suppose we had," James replied flatly 

"I rather prefer to be on a first name basis with a person I have just had the pleasure of kissing." 

"I imagine so." James voice retained that dry, morose quality of before and Jack wanted to yell at the man. 

"You do realize that most react with much more enthusiasm after being kissed by Captain Jack Sparrow." He only said it to bait James and get a rise out of him. Jack leered at him, waiting. The results were only a token effort.

"Yes, I suppose you shall have to excuse me if I do not swoon at your feet. I am cold and tired. My head is throbbing, and I have nothing left to my life but a lean-to and the torn coat of an admiral in the East India Company fleet." 

Jack let the leer fall from his face. He watched James as James watched the tired string of smoke rise from their pitiful and damp fire. Jack turned back to the fire, stirring to a stronger life with a stick and some more semi-dry underbrush. 

"So tell me then, why did you let me kiss you?" Jack asked. When James didn't speak right away, Jack assumed that there would be no answer to that question. And Jack really could not blame him. The man was probably confused and lonely. Jack was confused and lonely too—although much less confused as lonely. 

"In my life," James said so softly that Jack turned back to him to catch his words. "I've had no more than a handful of kisses." He was quiet for a bit longer and Jack thought that perhaps he had finished his thought, but after a moment, James continued. 

"Not counting those of family, of course. Those should be a given and a fact of life... But the taste of passion, was never given to me often. As you said before, Sparrow, I was focused on other things. 

"When given to me for the first fleeting time, I knew not what to do with it. I was a fumbling boy for all my nineteen years. Confused, drunk, and feeling much out of my element, I let it happen to me in a whirlwind. When it was over, all I felt was relief. I never actively sought it again. 

"I fantasized what my married life would be like, always jumping ahead from the wedding night to the two beautiful children and a content and comfortable home with a woman who understood me. I fit Elizabeth easily into that role, but I saw her in terms as I had only seen my own parents. I never witnessed their passion for each other. It was unseemly to present such displays before your children. I never witnessed father ever give my mother anything more than a peck on the cheek 

"Will Turner offered her passion. All I had for her was a peck on the cheek, but it didn't mean that I loved her any less." 

Jack sat the rum at James' feet. James examined the jug but did not move to take it. 

"You know that Beckett kissed me." 

"I had guessed," Jack replied. 

"The shame of it... It is a strange feeling. It is a confusion of feelings." James frowned deeply, looking down at the sand and scrub-grasses before him. "The man was an eel. There is little to nothing I found appealing about him, and yet..." 

"And yet his kiss stirred you," Jack answered for him. 

"How could that be?" James looked up and into Jack's eyes with a look of pained confusion. "I kissed Elizabeth before I sent her off from the Dutchman. I kissed her with all the passion I could muster and yet... it lay cold and hollow in my soul, a shadow of real passion." 

"That was the regrets," Jack suggested. 

"Perhaps," Norrington considered carefully. 

"And my kiss?" Jack ventured. 

James turned away again, a blush staining his cheekbones. He spoke softly. "When you said that it was better than Beckett, you had no idea... how different... like night and day. I could have lived on your very breath...." 

James straightened abruptly. "Forgive me. I..." 

"I'm not keeping those kisses from you, luv," Jack replied in a carefully soft tone. "They are still yours for the taking." 

"That is what I fear the most." James scooted out from under the shelter and stood. "Excuse me. I need some time alone." 

For a moment, Jack had to wonder what the man's problem was before it dawned on him. 

_~*~_

_Too easy to give and too easy to take. Could this mean that dear Jamie fears becoming infatuated with me? Understandable, aye, and by his figuring, I'm a scoundrel who cannot be trusted. Best not to lose his head and heart to the likes of me. And he being a man of very little experience in the ways of love, as he has just confessed, could be too easily taken in._

_If Beckett stirred him, it was only by virtue of engaging his curiosity. James' first experience sounded less than pleasant, and although it can be said that few of us have lovely experiences at that first time, James' recount sounds more like the perils of a young midshipman facing his lieutenant's exam than that of a young man finding manhood._

_So it only sets me wondering what manner of Anglican clergyman scared the fuck literally out of young Jamie Norrington. Religion had much to do with this, and make no mistake. No one get so repressed without the fear of hell brewin' somewhere in his mind. Trust me. It t'weren't fear of the king's laws. That just makes a body very circumspect. The king only has eyes with which to see sin, and eyes can be deceived. But God sees all... if you pay heed to such._

_Aye, there is some vicar back in England, to this very day, gloating over his victory over the budding libido of James Norrington._

_It is a shame, indeed, for I would have liked to have sampled that passion. Been a long time since I've had any plunder. Perhaps there is still a chance._

_~*~_  

There was no more rain, but the steady breeze from across the rolling breakers made the night air brisk. Their clothing was still damp. Jack built up the fire as much as he could with the damp kindling and dryer bark that he had found. And as the evening wore on, he began to wonder if he needed to fetch Norrington back. It wouldn't do for the poor blighter to catch a chill.

Well, if he expected to see any of the plunder he currently contemplated, he figured he would have to work for it. "Treasure worth the 'avin'" Tia had told him in that dream, and as Jack thought of that warm, sensuous and sweet surrender of lips that he experienced the night before, Jack could certainly see why Tia had called James Norrington a treasure. He was certainly a treat, a feast for a lusty pirate. Yes, there would be no better plunder for Jack Sparrow than that which lay between James Norrington's strong, white thighs. Jack grinned as his imagination took him to a happy place that smelled of musky flesh and maleness. 

"Been too long at that," Jack said as he stood from the fire. It was time to find yon fair ex-admiral. 

*** 

He had not been hard to find. Jack had only to stray up the coast for a while before he found the man looking out on a turbulent sea, his shoes-less and stocking-less feet toeing the high-tide line as if he was defying the ocean to come any further. Even in the fading and overcast sunset, his pale skin glowed and Jack had to wonder what it was the Royal Navy did to its officers to keep their skin so ridiculously fair. It must have been the heavy uniform blocking out all sun and fresh air.

It would be full dark soon and Jack had no intention of roaming the island on a gloomy and blustery night. It was time to get back to the fire. He approached Norrington, hoping the rum bottle he held in his grip would be offering enough to bring him back to their camp. 

Before he had made it three steps, Jack heard Norrington's tired voice reach him. "Go away, Sparrow." 

"That's Jack... or Captain Jack, if you please. I thought we had an accord, James." 

James sighed heavily. "Go away please, Jack." 

"Hm." Jack looked about him. "Tis a small island and I dare say you are unlikely to find rum and other company than mine. But I say you have been alone and isolated for too long." 

Norrington turned an intense scowl on him and hissed, "How could you possibly know my condition?" 

Jack swayed back as if he had been struck at and managed to look utterly shocked and affronted. "I happen to know some of that which causes men to isolate themselves. You isolated yourself right properly after Elizabeth's rejection, did you not? You turned your resentment towards me and me _Pearl_ and pursued to your own ruin. You isolated yourself even further then... and you see, mate, that's why Beckett was able to get under your skin." 

James' scowl lessened as he became interested in what Jack had to say. 

"Isolation makes a man starved for touch," Jack said as he came closer, letting his hips sway provocatively while maintaining a certain, cocky swagger. "Aye, he is... was a repugnant little eel, but he was also a fine kisser, a well-experienced and well-traveled lover." 

James turned away, his face twisting into a mask of loathing. Whether it was for himself or for Beckett, Jack didn't know. But there was no sense in stopping now. It was time for James to face the demons. 

"He kissed you, he touched you, and he stirred you," Jack said plainly. "No shame in that, luv." Jack offered the rum jug casually. James took it, snatching it angrily from Jack's grasp. 

"I should have had more control," James said in a soft, angry whisper as he pulled the cork on the jug and tipped it back quickly for a deep swig. 

"Too long isolated," Jack replied matter-of-factly. "A kiss is a touch, too deep to be ignored by a lost soul, isolated. Put his kiss from your mind, luv." Jack's voice grew husky and soft. "Think of ours." 

That got Norrington's complete attention and he turned to face Jack completely, a lost look in his eyes. Jack knew the man was still fighting it, but why fight? What could James Norrington possibly think he had to lose? 

But the answer was too easy, and Jack was miffed by it when his mind produced the answer too readily: control, discipline, self. The man's own self-image was too damn important to him, and it was flawed, besides. Jack cursed that damnable vicar back on England's shores. 

Norrington shook his head at Jack. "No." 

Which only told Jack that James was thinking of their kiss perhaps far more than he wanted. This would be tricky; the timing would be very precarious. Jack swayed in closer, reaching for the rum. 

"All right then, James," Jack reassured him in a soothing tone as he took back the rum, letting his fingers stray in a small caress over Norrington's hand. "Then I shall be thinking of it all on me onesies? Shall I remember how sweet your lips tasted against mine?" 

"Stop it, Sparrow!" Norrington hissed, his face closing off into an angry scowl. He turned away. 

Jack smiled slowly to himself. He covered it by taking a drink of the rum. 

"You know what your problem is, mate?" Jack said in a carefully neutral tone. "You spent all your life serving others; now there's no one left to serve but yourself, and you don't know how." Jack saw Norrington flinch slightly at this. 

"Give it up, mate," Jack continued. "There's no one to impress here. There's no lass to win or honor to serve. There is only yourself... and me... and I, for one, was more impressed with the kisses." 

James looked at him again. "And you expect me to throw away a lifetime of discipline and order for a moment of carnal pleasure?" 

"Look," Jack said in a more relaxed tone. "Your lifetime of discipline and order took you as far as Beckett's trained cabin boy complete with fancy wig and rank, none of which was all that impressive when you consider the source. You rejected that when you rescued Elizabeth and her pirate crew. Remember that little thing? Ah yes, you made a choice. So if I come along and offer to spice up what's left of your resurrected life, why should you hold on to principles that got you nothing but dead? Now, the way I see this be you and me and some rum and some... er..." Jack looked up as he stalled out, casting a perplexed frown to the uncooperative sky. He had been about to say moonlight, but the overcast sky stole the evening stars, making the night dank and black, almost too black. "Well, the fire light, and we could explore what sweet kisses can become. What say you to that?" 

For a moment, James' eyes retained that "lost" look, but then they hardened to cold jade. "I say you are a vile and depraved opportunist, playing upon my bitterness and disillusionment," Norrington replied flatly. 

Jack pulled back again wide-eyed and looking the man over as if he were suddenly covered with pox. "Eh? You are tough one." 

"Not so easily wooed, Sparrow." Norrington marched off, pushing past Jack and heading back to their camp. 

"Captain!" Jack called out indignantly to James' back. Then muttered angrily to himself as he kicked sand, "Treasure worth the havin'? Like boils on me bum or a bad case of the trots!" 

Jack continued to mumble and sulk as he followed Norrington back to the camp. But just as he caught up with the man, his hurt feelings got the better of his mouth. 

"Aye, not so easily wooed. I should have come to you with a commission and a ship. Apparently that's the only way to get a hand in your fine britches." 

Jack really should have guessed what that would invoke. On the whole, he wasn't surprised when Norrington spun about, a twisted look of berserker rage on his face and his hands reaching for Jack's throat. The sheer force of the man's attack threw them both to the ground, grappling like wild men. Jack only just caught James' hands before they could close around his neck in what Jack was sure was a crushing grip. The rum was knocked away from them and began to spill onto the sand. That alone helped shore up Jack's resolve to fight back hard. 

Jack pushed back with all his might; bringing a knee up to catch Norrington in the side like a kidney punch. If he had landed a little more under the man, it would have been his groin and the fight would have been over. Nevertheless, Jack took what he could get, and the kidney shot bought him a little leverage. And as he felt James grunt in pure rage and squirm his long body against him, Jack thanked the stars that it never occurred to the man to fight dirty. Certainly, those long legs could have done more than a little damage. 

"Filthy scoundrel!" James growled as he struggled to get his hands on Jack's throat. 

"Treacherous bastard!" Jack growled back. 

"Obnoxious felon!" 

"Cuttlefish!" 

There was nothing quite like an obscure insult to throw your opponent off just enough. At James' look of confused consternation, Jack reversed the direction of momentum of the fight, flipping James neatly to his back. He held his arms out and away. They flailed uselessly, locked and evenly matched. Jack's legs fell to either side of the man so he could straddle him. It was a precautionary move against those who were flexible enough to hook a leg about a man's head and twist. It was an ugly way to get a neck broken. It was as their bodies pressed fully against each other that Jack felt it. There was definitely more in James' breeches than pretty white thighs, and from the feel of the hot, thickening length, it was getting quite interested in the goings on. 

Jack wriggled himself ever so slightly on it and watched as a slightly panicked look flickered in James' eyes as he drew in a quick little gasp. 

"James, is that a belayin' pin in your pocket or are you just glad t'see me?" 

"Get off of me, you smelly oaf!" 

"Not so fast, Jamie. First you promise not to throttle me." Jack smiled provocatively. "Or else I'll be left to defending me life by rubbin' myself against you." Just to prove the point, Jack shimmied again. 

James growled dangerously this time. "Get off! Get off me, you deplorable fiend!" 

Jack couldn't help but laugh. Lying beneath Jack with his hair falling loose and his green eyes flashing unholy fire, James Norrington was beautiful. Oh, to kiss those lips again. 

_~*~_

_Why the hell not?_

_~*~_  

Jack dove into a reckless kiss, taking James' lips in a fierce blaze of glorious passion, and at first Jack thought he would have a fight on his hands. There was indecision pulsing in the tension of Norrington's body. A groan and a shudder was all the warning Jack got as the walled-up passion was then released. This time James did not relax into the kiss. This time James kissed back with violent intent. His mouth devoured Jack's; his tongue pushing past Jack's lips to lay claim to the territory it explored.

His hands found a way free from Jack's and they were soon wrapped about him. One hand grabbed a fist full of Jack's hair while the other locked on tight to Jack's right buttock. He found himself being ground into James' hot loins while James pushed up with desperate thrusts. 

Jack wondered if he could get them disrobed down to flesh before James lost complete control. He tried to reach between their pressed bodies. If he could just get to the buttons of James' breeches.... 

With a desperate moan, James released Jack from the kiss to come up for air. Jack took advantage of the moment to try and soothe the man, whispering gentle words against his ear. 

"Hush, luv. We'll see ya there. Hush. Let ol' Jack take care of you now." 

The hand in his hair and on his buttock slackened their grip and Jack eased himself back and down, careful not to lose contact with James. Fine tremors were working themselves through James' body, but Jack's hands smoothed firmly down him. Then he had those buttons. He was careful with James as he reached into his open breeches to tenderly pull free his erect cock. 

"Ah, this is what she meant by treasure!" Jack murmured softly against the hot, silky flesh. He nuzzled in close, drinking in the musky scent as his lips lightly brushed James' balls. He listened as James' panted little groans turned to ragged moans. 

James' hips bucked once shallowly and Jack shushed him with a gentle caress of his lips to James' hard length. 

"Hush," Jack whispered, letting his lips travel lightly against the hot prick. "I have you now." 

Jack placed a very soft kiss to the tip of James' prick. The head was flared beautifully, and the entire length was proud and firm, beautiful. Jack adored it from first sight, and knew he had yet to see a prettier prick. He smiled as he let the hair of his moustache gently tickle the head before he opened his lips to the proud beauty.

The breathy groan James let out was an intoxicating sound, so rich and deep. Jack smiled before he pressed the tip of James' length between his lips, but he got no further as James pulled himself violently up, pushing Jack backwards with brute strength. 

"NO!" 

Jack rolled backwards to sprawl on his arse, a surprised look in his eyes as he glanced over at Norrington, who curled in on himself, looking disheveled, disorientated, and more than a little debauched. 

"You gotta make up your bloody mind, mate," Jack murmured and he pushed himself more upright. 

James stared at him wild-eyed; his cock still blushed and firmly erect, contradicting his refusal. 

"One minute you want t'kill me; then next you are trying to soil your britches against me." Jack shrugged innocently. "I just offered an enjoyable alternative, is all." 

James face went crimson for a few moments and Jack thought that the man might make a second attempt at throttling, but the explosion never came. James sighed, looking down, looking defeated. 

"I am... a wanton bugger... a cursed sodomite.... Beckett was right." 

"Eh?" 

"He said..." James' lips pressed shut for a moment as he frowned in distaste. "...I wanted it." 

"Aye, and maybe you did, but not from the likes of him," Jack said assuredly as he carefully scooted closer. 

James looked up to him, his eyes meeting Jack's and the pain in his soft green eyes nearly took Jack's breath away. Jack knew this look. He had seen it times before, but usually aimed at Elizabeth Swann. Confused, forsaken, with his bruised heart in his hands, like a floundering man on a wide ocean, running out of strength and breath to tread the water; looking for something, anything to save him from going under. 

"You can't have it," he whispered. 

Jack frowned, knowing deep down what James meant, but he formed the question anyway. "What's that, luv?" 

"My heart. No one will have it... ever again." 

A number of things went through Jack's mind at that point: 

_~*~_

_The first of which was the response, "What makes you think I want or need it? Complicates things, luv... sticky emotions and all."_

_But as soon as my mind thought that, something else inside of me called me a big bloody liar. His heart, the gold, the goal, the treasure. It was more than that pretty prick that I wanted. Look at him! Every inch of the man is fine and lovely._

_Yes, he had some character flaws that caused him to do me a little damage in the past, but nothing that was not fixable. He though he was doing his duty by all concerned. Too bad he didn't see soon enough that he'd been a dupe for a really nasty piece of work._

_Poor Jamie lad! His tender heart has weathered too many storms. The pain must have seemed endless, and no wonder he wanted to stay dead. But I know from experience that the pain only follows you there. He is better off living, for what it's worth. His fortunes may change._

_I know that is how I live with myself._

_~*~_  

"You keep it guarded then, Jamie," Jack replied in a gentle voice. "But remember: Pirate." Jack swept his arms wide in a mock bow.

Jack smiled the most charming smile he possessed as he leaned forward to tenderly kiss James' lips once more. James did not refuse the kiss, but let Jack relax him back to the soft sand once more. Jack's nimble fingers tucked his shirt about his erection but did not attempt to place it back in his breeches. Instead, Jack gave it a loving little pat as he released the kiss. 

"Now where did that rum go?" Jack reached over to grab the bottle that had been sitting on its side in the sand, a third of it spilled away. "Bugger!" Jack cursed softly. "You made me spill the rum." 

Jack leaned back over Norrington. "But I think we can move past that tragedy, eh mate?" 

"You would forgive me for causing you a loss of such magnitude, Sparrow?" He looked up at him with amusement re-kindled in his eyes. "Are you well?" 

Jack smiled hearing the return of that particular dry humor and at the small light of a smile that sparkled in James' eyes. "Aye, luv. I'm fine." 

He ran his fingertips lightly across James' cheek as he dipped in for another set of sweet kisses. Pretty man. Soft lips. Treasure. Jack was careful this time, making the kisses soft and slow and undemanding. James was responsive to them, relaxing slowly. 

"Nothing wrong with a little pleasure, aye?" Jack murmured playfully against his ear. "Makes up for the rum." 

"Ah, so this is your price? Compensation for your loss?" 

Jack smiled down on James. He knew better than to take the bait. "It makes up for it, but I'll not hold you to the compensation. Although your attack on my person was... unexpected, I'll not call it undeserved. But I hope I can make up to you for that as well." 

"Again with the fair play?" 

"Didn't I tell you it was good for sharing rum and other pleasures?" 

"You did at that." 

Jack smiled. James was relaxing again but the situation was still confused and unreadable. The man obviously wanted him, but something more than his precious heart was holding him back; something indefinable. 

No, it had a name: Lord Cutler Beckett. How that man could scar a person in just a number of nights was legendary by now, Jack mused. James was lying; he didn't smoothly rebuff the man's advances. He merely stopped it before it went to a level that he couldn't deny his own duplicity. 

"Did Beckett want your heart?" Jack asked softly as he ran tender fingers across James' cheekbone and then traced the edge of his jaw line to his proud chin. James snorted derisively. 

"No. He wanted my loyalty. He wanted my skills... and he wanted my body. I don't think the man even knew what a heart is. I questioned the fact that he had one." 

"None, I'll warrant." Jack muttered with a sympathetic snort. 

"Why are we still speaking of the dead and not lamented?" James asked. 

"Just curious... same as you were about my association with dear, dead Cutty," Jack answered softly, letting his fingers ghost lightly over James' lips. 

"And you, Jack Sparrow? Do you want my heart?" 

Jack let a slow sultry smile glide over his features. "I am often tempted by bright and pretty things. You'll forgive my compulsion, sweet James, but guard it well." 

With that, Jack came down for more leisurely, delectable kisses. James responded to them once again with that same tender surrender, allowing himself to respond lightly, shyly. Jack released the kiss, looking down on his sweet James, stroking back a wisp of dark chestnut hair that had fallen over his expressive brow. 

James looked him in the eyes intently and Jack fell happily into pure jade. How very beautiful! The man's charms were boundless when he let himself be a little vulnerable. Jack felt James' hand moving below, and gazed down to see him pull up his shirt tails to expose once more his perfect member, still proud and erect. It was a presentation and invitation. Perhaps, at long last, James had decided to serve himself. 

"Are you sure then?" Jack's question was a tender whisper nuzzled to the hollow at James' jaw just below his ear. 

"I have nothing left to lose... but this," was his answer. 

Jack looked back up into his eyes as his hand warmly closed around James' cock. "Then I shall be kind." 

Jack kissed him once more, his lips worshiping James' as his hand ran reverently over the soft, silky skin of his hardness. He released it for just a moment as his other hand wiggled about to get himself free of his own breeches. As soon as that was accomplished, he had both of their pricks pressed together in his hand, firmly stroking them. James' head fell back from Jack's kiss and he gave a soft, broken groan, almost like a wounded animal.

"Aye, luv," Jack whispered.

 

"Please," James replied in a strained whisper. "Not like this." 

"What is it that you want?" 

James swallowed, his eyes sliding closed as he let it out in the softest, desperate whispered, "Inside me... I want you inside me. I need that. Please... please, Jack." 

"As you wish," Jack whispered in reply. With a soft peck to James' cheek, he released him, pulling himself up to his knees. He retrieved the rum. He pushed it James' way again. 

"It's your first time with a man, aye? You'll be needing some of this." 

James sat up, shaking his head. "No. If I am to do this, I wish to be in full possession of my faculties. I'll not stumble through this time drunk." 

Jack's smile widened. "My brave, sweet James," he murmured as he rolled gracefully to his feet. He reached a hand down to James to help him up from the sand. 

Jack went back to their tiny camp and shook out one of the threadbare gray blankets, spreading it back out on the sand in the lee of the lean-to but away from the string of smoke from the fire. He then turned to James, beckoning him to join him with a single, outstretched arm. James didn't hesitate, but came to Jack, his green eyes flashing in the final fading glow of the day and the flicker of the still weak fire. He allowed himself to be drawn into Jack's embrace. 

His lips were so incredibly soft and warm, and Jack could not get enough. Jack held on to that kiss even as he led James to the center of the blanket. At last he released the gentle kiss to sink to his knees before James. 

With slow and deliberate care, Jack smoothed James' breeches down his thighs, looking up to James' eyes, smiling a most deliciously wicked smile. 

"It's not every day a man such as meself is treated to such a fine and fancy feast. You'll forgive me if I just have one more taste?" Jack murmured up to him. 

Jack suppressed a chuckle as he heard James gasp aloud when Jack took his member into his mouth. No more teasing kisses and caresses, Jack got down to business, sucking and smoothing his tongue up and down James' stiff cock. He let his tongue explore the shape of James' prick, taking in the silky texture of the flesh and the springy firmness of thick length. Ah, this was a taste that Jack could come to crave. Each sweet pull of his mouth milked out salty essence from James, with a distilled taste of what Jack had sampled at his neck. It was indeed a feast. 

James' prick throbbed in his mouth. It pulsed and moved like a living thing, and James moaned Jack's name softly, begging for mercy. Jack laughed to himself as he wondered if he should give James mercy. Which would be more merciful, bringing him off now, or doing as he requested and taking his pretty arse on this blanket? Jack released James' prick. 

"Come 'ere." Jack's voice was rough but soft as he pulled on one of James' hands. 

James sank to his knees before Jack, and Jack took that opportunity to recapture his soft lips in another searing kiss. Jack knew that his tongue, just recently coated with clear salty issue of James' weeping prick, must still taste of that sea-sweet musk. He wondered how James felt about tasting himself on another man's tongue. 

Holding James' face gently between his hands, Jack kissed him thoroughly, letting his tongue slide deliciously between tender, sweet lips. They had time enough and they had rum enough, and Jack wanted to savor this sweetness for as long as he could. Heaven knew when he would fall upon such delightful fortune again. 

Yes, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, a man of infinite charm and seductive wiles, but this was no ordinary conquête du Coeur. This man was no ordinary man. He was a fine man, a gentleman and a one-time officer of the Royal Navy. He was also a rare and perfect beauty, too perfect of body to be plundered blindly; too perfect of spirit to be taken with negligent crudeness and disregard. He was like the wild, untamable sea; he was to be ridden with experience and care and no small amount of daring. Such a dangerous love must be wooed with patience and an attentive touch, and Jack prided himself of possessing such virtues as patience and dedication. The ten-year pursuit of the _Pearl_ stood as testimony. 

So, releasing the kiss, and with the lightest of touches, Jack traced soft lips, whispering against the warm skin of James' throat, "There, love, lean forward for me. I promise you a kind hand. How can a man not want to bugger such a pretty and perfect bum?" 

He ran his hand slowly over the tight swell of James' buttocks and felt James tremble slightly as if he were fighting for control over his own person. Jack rested his lips against a pulse point on James' throat. 

"Just get on with it, Sparrow," James gasped out in a tight whisper. 

Jack smiled, lifting his head to look him in the eye. "That I will, but I'll not rush it. That'll be my first kindness to you." 

With one last soft kiss to James' lips he pulled on James' hands to guide him forward until he was on hands and knees. 

"Must it be in such an undignified position," James said, frowning back over his shoulder at Jack. 

"Tis easier this first time, luv, and you'll thank me for it," Jack replied, his hand still smoothing errantly over one taut buttock. "And I have so much to show you yet. You'll not complain of the position once I've begun." 

With that, Jack moved behind James, cupping a buttock in each hand. He spread them carefully, lowering his face so that his tongue could delve agilely into the opened cleft. The wet tip tickled downward toward the small, puckered entrance to James' body, and Jack chuckled, with anticipation, listening to James' gasps and exclamations. Oh, James Norrington hadn't felt anything yet! There was so much left to show and share. 

Jack let his tongue ever so lightly touch, but then move on, downward, downward, to trace the wide perineum and to feel the soft tickle of the pubic hair about James' bollocks. He licked James' scrotum with long flat swipes of his tongue before his mouth ventured upward again, questing with lips and tongue, to touch and take James to a new pleasure yet unexplored by the man. Yes, Beckett had never had James like this; Jack would bet his life on it. 

James' response was a yelp and a gasp, his body quivering tight like a bowstring with every touch of Jack's tongue. His breath became labored. Jack let his tongue play lightly about the tight entrance once more, never diving in too deep. He kept it up, smiling as he heard every gasp and muttered half-curse James emitted. 

The small fire was not enough light to see clearly by, and Jack wondered what James' face must look like about now, taken unaware by the pleasure. His elbows now resting on the ground, James' head slumped down between his shoulders and his forehead rested on his clasped hands. His shirt, the only article of clothing left on his person, slipped up his back to blouse loosely at his shoulders. He panted and swore but held still and open to Jack's ministrations. 

"Feels good, doesn't it, luv?" Jack murmured cheerfully against one smooth pale buttock. 

The only response Jack got was a shivered sigh and a somewhat audible gulp. Jack's grin turned feral as he dove down for another taste. This time Jack let himself fully indulge, assaulting the sweet budded entrance of James Norrington's strong, hard body with a wicked tongue and tender lips and teeth. Jack's own arousal grew as he listened to each heated moan and sigh James let slip from his perfectly delectable lips. 

To do this to this man, to this fine gentleman, to open his lust like a chest of treasure, and to luxuriate in the glow of his pure inner fire was like stumbling upon the greatest prize all the world and the seven seas had to offer. Jack had every intention of doing this right. He lifted for a moment, regarding the wet puckered opening, quivering slightly in excitement. James was almost ready, but not quite. Saliva wouldn't be enough to ease this entry. 

Jack slung himself over past James to reach for his leather satchel. His hand fumbled over, and then pulled out the slush. It was certainly slick enough but Jack made a disgruntled face at it and pushed it aside. It was also salty animal fat. It would be the least comfortable thing for James' tender, virgin bum. His hand rummaged deeper and then fell upon a small jar. He pulled out the first aid salve he kept for burns and the like. It was made of the oil of a plant that was found only in the nations of the Barbary Coast. It would do perfectly. 

Jack smoothed one hand up James' spine as he let the other fingers, coated with a liberal amount of the salve, touch his hole carefully. He rubbed James soothingly when the man flinched at the sensation of the cool, thick salve being applied. 

"Hush," Jack murmured. "You're doing so well, luv. So beautifully... so beautiful...." 

One fingertip breached the entrance and James gasped, his back arching a bit. 

"Shh. It's alright," Jack crooned as his finger pushed deeper, slicking James' tightness and opening him with care. "Let ol' Jack show you the way." 

James gasped again, his head lifting. "Oh God, please, Jack...." 

"Shh. Hush now." Jack added a second finger and felt James contract around both digits with a small spasm. Jack's other hand continued to soothe, rubbing gentle circles on James' heated flesh. Jack leaned forward, pressing his lips lightly on the small of James' still bowed back as his fingers pushed in and out in shallow, slow movements. He felt James relax, bit by bit, until his back leveled, and until his head dropped once more over his clasped hands. 

James let out a sigh that was like music to Jack as he felt the man's opening relax more so about his questing fingers. A little deeper now, just a bit. Jack pressed a kiss to the top of the curve where James' buttocks met narrow waist and strong back. Luxuriating in the soft warmth of his flesh, Jack let his lips linger, breathing against the smooth round of one of James' buttocks. His arousal was more than insistent, it was nearly intolerable as he willed his hand to stay slow and steady and his touches tender. But between his legs, he burned like a bonfire, his still naked member, straining, weeping in an unrelenting erection. Jack took in a deep breath and remembered the virtue of patience. 

Yes, James was relaxing now; his breathing fast but deep and steady. Jack moved his fingers with deeper thrusts, reaching in to brush that special place he knew existed. It was a small nub inside of tight, hot softness and Jack found it, amazing himself and James more so, as the man let out a slight yelp and gave a shuddering breath. 

"Is it good, luv?" 

James breathed out hard then spoke on another shuddering breath, "Yes... Oh, yes..." 

Jack wiggled his fingers again, moving them in such a way as to both pleasure and loosen, and James was so responsive, wriggling back against Jack's digits, seeking that sweet connection again and again. 

Jack smiled. "Almost ready, sweetling." 

Yes, Jack was more than almost ready, holding himself in check, his desire straining inside his skin like wild horses. His breath quickening as he felt James pushing himself back with diminutive movements, fucking himself on Jack's fingers. The fire to take what he wanted threatened to consume him. 

Ready. Yes. 

Jack unbent from over James, removing his fingers carefully and smiling at the muffled whimper James made when the contact was broken. He then took up the salve, drawing out another generous portion, he coated his painfully aroused member, hissing as the cool cream connected with super-heated flesh. 

"Easy, luv." He lined his cock to James' flush and slick opening; his voice a gravely whisper, "steady...." 

The whole of Jack's being burned with the effort it took to move so slowly, letting the head of his member breach the tight entrance and nothing more. The wet, tight, silken heat tore at his control, and he growled low between clenched teeth. So very tight, a sweet dream of sensual delight, the scorching, luxuriant feel of the beautiful man beneath him took his breath away. 

He went slowly, so very slowly, because that was what Jack could do. He had patience enough and control enough to get what he wanted. It was something everyone underestimated in him. It was what made Captain Jack Sparrow special among pirates. It was what made him compelling as a lover. 

Slowly forward, and Jack listened to the long moan that escaped James' lips, his hips trembling in Jack's grip. Jack pushed his shirt aside more and then gripped James' to hold them still and steady. He had not taken his own shirt or his breeches off. His breeches were just open and the waist stretched, the fabric biting in at his spread thighs. Breathing out deeply, he looked down at where their bodies joined and where his tar-stained, tanned and weathered hands gripped the pure cream flesh of James' hips. In the golden haze of lust and willpower, Jack took another ragged breath. 

James Norrington! He, Captain Jack Sparrow, was practically balls deep inside James Norrington, ex-of the British Royal Navy! The famed Pirate Hunter! And yes, he knew Beckett had never had so much! A heady surge of pride gripped him, rushing through his body like a heavy breaker against the shore. It augmented the pleasure coursing through him, bringing it to new, dizzying heights. 

"Jack..." James said his name on a softly sobbed breath. 

Jack began to move, taking a slow rhythm at first, sliding in and out with deliberate care and finesse. He listened to the gasp and moans emitted from James and watched the tension of his shoulder blades as a guide to let him know if he was hurting the man. 

But it couldn't last. James' body just felt to wondrously tight and delicious around him. Jack's eyes slowly closed as his thrusts began to pick up speed. Now he was living on the sensations of heat and unyielding pleasure and the keening, wordless cries coming from Norrington. 

Yes, oh yes! Beautiful, firm perfection beneath him, surrendering to him. Now James was his. Take what you can; give nothing back! 

He had wanted to pleasure Norrington, but he was too far gone. There was no going back, and he crested on the pleasure's intensity, tumbling full into his orgasm to drown in its sun-bright waves. He cried out upon the last, between clenched teeth. Finally his jaw unclenched and his mouth opened to drag in needed breath. He let his head sag on his neck as the last of the sparkling climax fell away. It was done. 

He was very careful when he extracted himself, not just for James' comfort but for his own as his member, now spent, was hypersensitive. He then helped ease James down from his knees to lay on his side on the blanket. James panted, blinking ahead of himself, looking into the island night, but he said nothing. His member was still partially erect; so Jack figured it must have been pleasant enough for him. However, Jack still felt a sting of guilt at not seeing James through to his own climax. 

Jack lay behind the man, spooning him. He propped his head up so he could look over James while he smoothed down James' flank with a tender hand. 

"There, luv," he said gently. "I'll not leave you wanting." 

With that, Jack's hand dipped down until he held James' member in his firm grip. It only took a few strokes to get him totally erect again; then he held the man, letting him strain back against him, his breath once again coming in a ragged pant. Finally, with a short cry, James came; hot, white streams of seed pulsing from his member. Jack held the organ in his hand a little while longer, not stroking, but simply holding, cradling it as if it was in his care and protection. He held it and James until James' eyes closed and he slept.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack awoke when James pulled himself free from Jack's arms. Jack didn't get up. He opened one eye to see Norrington pulling on his breeches, giving a hissing groan as movement proved painful to certain regions of his body. Jack watched as James limped off, away from camp, heading inward again, perhaps towards the freshwater pool. Once he disappeared in the thick, palm-forest growth, Jack opened both eyes and sat up. The morning looked glorious, but shipping out was the last thing on his mind. Moving with care in his morning routine of resettling his headscarf and repairing the kohl smudged about his eyes, Jack contemplated the possibilities of the day.

He had taken a moment last evening, after Norrington had fallen asleep, to clean himself and tuck himself away. The last thing he had done before retiring, curled about Norrington once more, was to take another few celebratory swigs of rum and pull the other blanket over James' bare legs. Still, Jack was a little stiff from how he slept, but fine. He was better than fine. He was absolutely, brilliantly dandy. He always felt this grand after a good and proper shag with a very pleasant conquest. Until now, that had been getting the prettiest whores and/or rent-boys in Tortuga to give him a tumble for free. This, however, trumped them all.

He had had James Norrington! Funny ol' world. Jack smiled brightly in the morning sunshine as he brought up the image in his mind's eye of James Norrington in his fancy commodore togs, silk, gold braid, brocade and all, his green eyes flashing displeasure. Then he overlaid that image with the remembrance of last night, holding his hips in his hands as he drove his arousal-heavy cock home again and again. Beautiful creamy white skin, blemished only very sparsely here and there by small pink scars, probably some old battle wounds, all lain before Jack in the purest posture of submission. Lovely.

Jack took a deep breath and sighed. He would make his James breakfast, he decided. The fire had gone out during the night, but the day was dry and sunny. Jack would find dry fuel and put on water for tea. It seemed a wonderful plan and Jack expected his tin cup to be missing. James would have it for his morning shave. Except, it wasn't missing. It was right where they had left it last night. Jack frowned. Then he abruptly turned on his heels, heading into the trees the way James had gone.

James was at the pool's edge where Jack had expected him to be. Once more, Jack hid to the side of the small rock outcropping. He observed from there the man he had bedded last night sitting beside the pool, his knees up, his arms wrapped about them and his face buried in the curl of his own body. The white shirt he wore was still not tucked into the white breeches, which were dusted over with dirt enough to make them a disreputable gray. Jack could hear no sounds, but he knew what he was witnessing as he watched Norrington's tense shoulders and bowed back shake. Jack no longer had a smile for his conquest.

_~*~_

_Sometimes a man needs a moment alone._

_I've seen men cry before. I know what it takes to make a grown man cry. A man at the end of his rope, looking at the bottom with no way to scratch back up again, that was when a man cried._

_What Jamie had said that night, 'I have nothing left to lose but this?' Well, now he had lost that too. It only stood to reason that he would reflect on what he had finally surrendered to. It's a tough realization to come to grips with the fact that you are not what you always thought you were, and your world is not that place your parents and vicar told you it would be. It was bitter medicine to swallow that despite all you have seen and been through, you could be brought lower still._

_I reckon that in his eyes, his lot had gone from bad to worse to know that he is indeed the wanton bugger that Beckett accused him of being._

_But he's not what Beckett made him out to feel he was. He's not, and I'll swear on the Pearl to that. That lying swine, Beckett, for all his high breeding and fancy ways wouldn't know a truly fine gentleman if he was dropped at his doorstep in a dinghy._

_James Norrington was above the likes of him._

_... and the likes of me._

_A man this low has two paths from which to choose. He can take that single ball to his brain, or he can move on. I have choices too. I could help him by giving him my pistol, or I could help him by showing him how impressively fine a gentleman he really is. Either choice presents problems involving the very possibility of those sticky emotional attachments._

_Do I give him the kindness he needs? Is it too late for me and my seriously compromised sense of self-preservation (i.e., my depraved, heartless and greedy ways)? I guess the answer lies in the fact that I wouldn't be giving him my pistol, mate. That was decided as soon as that little solution presented itself to me mind._

_~*~_  

Jack slipped back to their camp. A man did need a moment alone sometimes, and Jack respected that. He continued to make the tea, boiling a pot full of fresh water. He checked the condition of the biscuit, making sure it had stayed dry in the leather satchel. It was the best he could offer Norrington. Well, there was the fruit. He wondered if he could find the fruit trees that James had found before, but he worried about leaving the camp lest James should returned while he was absent. Jack wanted to be there for the man and never mind what his head told him about those sticky emotions.

In the end, Jack decided to take the chance and ventured in to the trees, following his nose. Fruit trees were usually surrounded by dropped fruit in various states of decomposition. Jack knew he need only follow any aroma of rotting fruit. He found a papaya tree, heavy with the melon-sized fruit. He returned with two before James finally stumbled out of the thicket looking tired and ill-used.

By that time, Jack had one of the paw-paws cut in half. He had used the pot as a tea kettle and poured James a steaming cup.

"Here, mate." Jack passed the tin cup towards James as he came to the edge of their camp. Jack made eye contact with James only briefly, noting the haggard and blood-shot look that was not necessarily directed at him. James looked blankly ahead, taking the cup from Jack unthinkingly.

Jack sat back down next to the fire, taking up a knife to cut a sliver of the papaya's sweet inner pulp.

"The fruit's for breakfast, if you be wanting some," Jack declared casually.

Instead of answering, James took a sip of his tea. He then looked down into the cup, considering it for a moment. At last, he spoke.

"For a filthy scoundrel and a vile, depraved opportunist, you make a remarkably decent cup of tea."

 Jack looked up at the man, smiling and gesticulating in his usual flamboyant manner, knife still in hand. "And that would be the very first compliment you've ever paid me. Could be the start of a new habit. Didn't fancy much that old one of yours anyway."

Jack gestured to Norrington to sit. Norrington looked down for another long moment, but then sighed and carefully lowered himself to the ground beside Jack, hissing sharply but quickly, trying his best to hide the discomfort of his well-used bum. Jack's smile widened, but not unkindly. He passed James the other half off the papaya.

"Sore, aye?" Jack asked. "That'll pass."

James waved the papaya away, and, with a slight pout, Jack lowered the fruit to set it next to James' knee, if he changed his mind. They sat in silence, Jack eating his papaya half, occasionally scraping out more dark seeds, and James sipping his tea from time to time. The morning was bright and mild, but Jack could tell by the brilliance of the blue sky that this would turn into a hot and sweltering Caribbean day. There was only a hint of a sea breeze, and the ocean sparkled like miles of emeralds, moving and rolling as if alive. 

"I owe you my thanks," James said. His softly spoken words took Jack off guard and he turned his head quickly, his eyes narrowing and then widening as he regarded Norrington. 

"You said you would be kind... and you were. For that, I am grateful," James continued but he did not look back at Jack. Instead he gazed before him, out to the open ocean. 

Jack considered the man. His words, at face value, were polite and spoken with an air of a man trying to square up a debt. That in itself was a little disconcerting. A man preparing to die often tried to make square his debts. 

"Mick was a very wise man. He was me Da's first mate on his first ship. I told you about that advice he gave me," Jack said softly. James did not respond in any way. 

Jack continued, looking out to sea as well, "He also told me, every storm has an end; every squall has a calm. So you reef the sails and hold the lines. You ain't sunk until you're sunk." 

There was silence again, and Jack ate a few more slices of papaya. 

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Sparrow?" James' voice cut with that familiar, condescending tone that Jack had grown accustomed to. 

Jack felt the smile grow on his face as he turned to look back at Norrington. "Just a bit o' advice... from a scallywag who knew what love is." 

Norrington's eyes narrowed as he regarded him. Jack sat up straighter under his scrutiny. 

"Advice from you, or anyone of your ilk could do me more harm than good, I'm certain," James said coldly. 

"Up on the high horse again, I see," Jack replied, his smile losing its kindness. "I wasn't the blighter who advised you to take Beckett's offer. You know, it could have been you who ruled the sea, mate." 

"As if you would have let me. No, Sparrow, without the money and resources that Beckett had at hand, I was no more than another stepping stone to your plans. You would have eventually ran me to ground..." 

"Would I? Considering Jones had me in his over-sized claws, I fail to see how I could have been such a threat." 

"Then it would have been me that Elizabeth and Will would have eventually come for," James said bitterly. 

"Seeing things a bit more clearly then?" Jack asked in a rumbling murmur. "Not that they would have come for you right away, but they would have been... persuaded to... eventually." 

"The whole affair is twisted beyond any sane creature's imagination." 

"Tis' the price we pay for messin' with things beyond mortal understandin'." 

"The price we all paid for you, Sparrow!" 

"And there you are, still blamin' me for things that were not my fault," Jack said calmly enough, even though the accusation made anger flash through him once again. "I never asked you to join me crew. In fact, as I recall it, I had some rather legitimate reservations, the least of which was the state of hygiene on your person. I never asked you to turn on me and Elizabeth and Will. I didn't ask you to leave us to die at Jones' hand. I didn't ask you to sell your ruddy soul to Beckett, and I certainly didn't ask you to die." Jack stopped, feeling the anger burning in his veins. This was not how he wanted their first morning as lovers to go. He stood up abruptly. 

"Do as you please then, Admiral. Blame me and be damned. You'll never be free of yourself until you let go of this need to hate someone other than your own bloody, fool self." 

Jack stomped away, back into the trees, heading back to the freshwater pool. 

_~*~_

_Sometimes a man needs a moment alone. That man is now me._

_Give a man a chance. It was that thinking that got me into the mess. Why am I always the victim of my own bloody idiocy, mate? I stood there and reminded myself of every reason why I should just run the ruddy bastard through and take him out of both our miseries. Feculent weasel that he is, to still look down his nose at me, after all that he has caused, I shouldn't forgive him._

_Elizabeth shouldn't have forgiven him, too._

_...but she did._

_~*~_  

Jack stopped at the pool's edge, stripping quickly but with care, laying each piece of clothing on top of the other in his own, particular order, as if habit. Once stripped naked, he proceeded to step into the pool for a nice, cooling swim. He could have taken his swim in the ocean but he thought better of it. With the day's temperatures moving higher, he would be happier in fresh water. Also, he wanted the trees between himself and Norrington or he would yet be tempted to simply shoot the man.

It was a good thing. The cooler water took his mind from the heat of his anger and actually made him feel good to be alive once more. Alive, against all odds. 

But where would he have been if he had held to the code? Where would he have been if he had done only what was best by him? Would Will and Elizabeth have come to save him from the Locker? For that matter, would Will and Elizabeth have saved him from the noose? 

Where would he have been if he had done only what was best by him? Would Barbossa have abandoned him in Tortuga, or would he have been sitting alone and rum-less on that deserted island again? 

Yes, he gave a man a chance, but others gave him chances too, and he had stood up to the challenge. Perhaps his solutions had seemed clumsy and ill-timed, but he had worked with what he had. What he had most of all was others' perceptions of him. It was indeed easy to manipulate people who thought they knew what to expect from him. It was the strongest weapon in his arsenal. 

Jack swam heading towards the deeper section of the large pool. The water tasted sweet and clean, and it made his skin tingle. He felt like he was shedding an unwanted layer of himself in its clear depths. 

Perhaps Jack was over-thinking things. Perhaps Norrington was just trying to hold on to that puffed up sense of self that had helped him feel like he was in control of his own destiny. 

Well, it still didn't mean that Jack had to take that kind of shoddy treatment. 

Jack ducked under briefly; then came up, letting his heavy mass of hair stream down his back. He began a steady breast stroke back towards the rocky bank. He felt infinitely better. 

That was, he felt better until he saw Norrington standing at the water's edge. Jack stopped short of the shallows, his face half concealed by the cool water. Norrington just stood there, watching. Dressed more or less for the day, with shirttails tucked, stockings and shoes, and ornate blue coat with its heavy gold trim put on, he folded his hands behind his back and settled on his feet a little more, as if he was prepared for a lengthy wait. 

"A word, Sparrow," he said in a calm clear tone. 

Jack raised his mouth above the waterline to reply. "Didn't know you had words with anyone of my ilk, mate." 

Norrington breathed out and looked down for only a short moment, a strange sort of pained expression coming to his face that was something between frustration and mental exhaustion. 

"Jack, please." His voice was softer and there was a genuine note of entreaty. "I wish to apologize." 

Jack came up a little more until his shoulders were at the surface. "You can do that from there." 

"You won't come out?" James' eyebrow rose as he regarded him. 

"Rather not. Gives us space to overcome if either of us wants to put hands about anyone's throat again." 

James suppressed a small smile that still managed to play about his eyes. "Of course, and there was no consideration of modesty, being you are currently in a complete state of undress." 

"Why should there be?" Jack smiled back. "You've seen mine and I've..." he chuckled lewdly, "...seen yours." 

"Will you forgive me, my poor behavior and unkind treatment of you?" James continued, straightening his posture with naval poise while still managing to look contrite. "As I sat and reflected on what you said, I came to the conclusion that you may have a few points. I may have actively projected my self-contempt on to you. I suppose it made me feel like there was something, someone I could pursue and punish for all my own shortcomings instead of admitting to them myself. That would have been admitting defeat. But that, it seems in the end, has got me no where else but defeat.

"You done nothing more to me than share your camp and your company, and I have repeatedly repaid you with insults and slights. Old habit again, I suppose." 

"Why do you hate me so, mate?" Jack asked; his eyes narrowing as he regarded James warily. 

Norrington's eyes moved on from Jack to a point beyond, ahead of himself. "I don't." 

Without further explanation, the man turned on his heels and walked away. And Jack stood there, in the water and puzzled, but only for a moment. Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. 

_~*~_

_He doesn't hate me, to be sure. No. It's more the matter of what he has found in himself to be the object of his adore. Does he fear me then? Perhaps, but not in the general piratey way. He fears the shame of it._

_And it makes me wonder... when did it start? How long has he fought it? Could it have been the docks, when he stared down the length of that fine blade at me, his green eyes, cold as the devil's own heart? What it must have been like to have found such a sight? Terrifying moments after the woman you just proposed to falls to her possible demise, to find her rescued on the docks, in the capable hands of a pirate rogue that you find incredibly attractive... possibly more attractive to you than the little missy you had set your intentions on._

_Ah, and then that rogue had the audacity to flirt! Like salt in a wound, mate. No, he never really hated me. He hated what I made him feel. He hated it so much that it was easy to turn that need to eradicate the potential sodomite in himself into trying to eradicate the pirate Captain Jack Sparrow!_

_Life is never that easy, mate._

_As I see it, driving himself to the brink as he did, only to find himself confronted with Beckett's tender charms was a rude awakening._

_~*~_  

Jack climbed out of the pool and went to his clothing. Shaking out his shirt he sat it out flat on the dry earth beside the water. Jack then positioned himself, cross-legged, on the shirt, looking out across the pool to where the water trickled off the rock-face of the ridge above. He sat, wishing he had a bottle of rum with him to keep him company while he thought and dried off.

So, what was it inside of James Norrington that drove him the way it did? Guilt, shame, and a need to be what he must have been told he should be, all veiled in a drive for honor? Perhaps he proposed to Elizabeth because it was the one thing he needed to complete the picture of the life he was told he ought to be leading. When Jack entered the picture was when it all began to unravel in a most spectacular fashion. 

Jack and his ways, persuading a gullible young man to free him, and then Jack's undead, mutinous former crew stealing away the young lady Norrington had decided would do to make for his perfect match. Jack and his rascally ingenuity, causing those same young people to feel compassion and allegiance to his pirate-self, so much so that they would stand between Norrington's sword and him, thus revealing that all of Norrington's dreams of achieving that pat little life were all puffed-up illusion. 

The reality had been the attraction he had felt towards the very pirate who had entered the picture to spell the certain demise of his completely perfect little life and career. No, Norrington didn't hate him. 

What seemed like hate was a defense. The fear of falling too far off of that cliff of his own reality and inner nature must have been stifling at times. Was it any wonder it drove him to such a fall after the Dauntless sank? 

Then Cutler Beckett taunted him with it! Jack wondered if Beckett really knew that he had hit the mark square. Surely he did. Cutty loved to add insult to injury. It had been a favorite hobby of his. And Jack wondered if Beckett had known just which man Norrington wanted more than he was willing to admit. Irony, that, if he had. They had both wanted the same man, the same cunning pirate captain. 

Jack had a picture in his mind: that first day on the docks when Norrington had been cataloging his effects, and he held Jack's compass. "A compass that doesn't point north." 

Jack wondered out loud. "Elizabeth was standing to his north side. Was it pointing at me?" 

Jack sat and wondered for a moment more as his expression sobered into a thoughtful frown. Fear can drive a man to do many foolish things and James Norrington had feared Jack Sparrow from the day he had laid eyes on him. He had not feared him as a pirate and a criminal. He had feared Jack as a temptation to his repressed heart. He still feared Jack, and that is why he made a point to tell him that Jack could not have his heart. 

"But it's far too late, isn't it, Jamie lad?" Jack said softly. 

_"And what do you fear, witty Jack?"_  

From the corner of his eye, Jack caught a flash of white scuttling away, but the crab was gone when Jack looked up, lost in the lush growth beyond the water's edge. 

_~*~_

_That's easy: L-O-V-E. Look what it did to Davy Jones! Look what it did to Elizabeth and William. I remember how despondent Teague became after Mick passed. It was like someone had sucked the soul right out of the man. After that, he didn't give a damn any more._

_Look what love does! It strips a man of pride. It reduces him to desperate fretfulness. It steals his will to explore and conquer. It makes him a slave to another's fancy. It... It..._

_It steals a man's sense of self-preservation! Personally, I like my sense of self-preservation. It's one of my finest attributes. It fuels my charms and adds that witty edge that everyone seems to find so endearing... or is that annoying?_

_~*~_  

Nevertheless, Jack realized that love was also a treasure that some men found worth dying for. As a consequence, Jack remembered the happiness he witnessed that had been brought about by love. He remembered watching Teague and Mick squabble over a game of dice, but, all the while, they would look into each other's eyes as if no one else in the whole world existed. He remembered the way Will would get that silly little smile whenever Elizabeth would say even the simplest of kind words to him. Jack remembered how Elizabeth would glow radiant under William's regard. Jack also remembered how Elizabeth would stand defiant like a fiery sea Valkyrie in the face of everyone, the Royal Navy, black-hearted pirates, sea monsters, the fine aristocratic society of her birth and her own father, to defend her William. He remembered Will telling him outside the Fort Charles gaol that he would die for Elizabeth.

There was something more to love that made it a desirable condition, that made the highs it brought worth the lows it could also bring. It was a condition that called to the very soul of a person. It didn't come easy, but when it did come and it came true and strong it shone in a person's eyes like a spark of pure magic. Love seemed to have a power all its own that trumped any other magic the sky or the sea could cast. 

Jack closed his eyes, lifting his head towards the midday sunlight. In his mind's eye he recreated a vision of James: proud and beautiful with eyes like jade from the Orient. But there was more to the man, so much more. He had courage. Jack had no doubt of that. He had watched James head straight into the fray with unblinking daring. His sword bright and sharp, picking up the light of battle reflected in his eyes; he faced enemies with audacity that bordered on impudence. 

James also had wit and daring. He was clever. Oh, how James was clever! Stealing the heart and tricking them all, the crew of the _Pearl_ and the crew of the _Dutchman!_ That took some daring, indeed. Jack could not help the smile that spread across his face as he was warmed with pride for James in that one small feat that had only just a day before enraged Jack . So James had double-crossed him, but look how smoothly he had done that deed! A man after his own untrustworthy heart! 

James had compassion. Jack had often told himself that this was a weakness until he realized how often he was the recipient of it and how many times he returned it in kind. James could show kindness and consideration at the most surprising times. The man took himself far too seriously, mostly, but he knew when to back up and take a good hard look at what he was doing. It had halted his hand many times when he could have delivered death blows. 

James was beautiful, but more than in a physical beauty kind of way. Lord knew, James had physical beauty and then some. Jack licked his lips as he remembered that creamy white flesh and hard body he had held last evening. Nevertheless, there was more. He was just beautiful, the way he thought, the way he moved, the way he hit Jack with that horrendous and unrelenting dry sarcasm. That tongue cut with the efficiency of a Turner blade. He could leave Jack in ribbons and still have him hanging on every word. 

And, when James let himself be sensual, when he really let go, like that night Jack first kissed him, James was more than beautiful. James was extraordinary. The way he looked at Jack made Jack feel like something extra special. He felt excellent and exceptional when Jamie looked at him with those fiery green eyes all full of passion. 

Jack opened his eyes and looked about himself. His heart felt full and warm, a condition he could not remember feeling much ever in his life. Was this love? There was one true test. 

He thought about leaving James behind. Jack was surprised by the lance of emotion that pierced his heart. It was heavy and indefinable. It felt like a mix of feelings that left him confused and disorientated. His first thoughts had been, "How could I? What would I do? How would I replace that joy, that beauty, that insufferable-stick-up-his-arse wit?" 

Was it love? 

_~*~_

_Aye, mate. Let's face it; one can never be completely certain. But I do know this, if I don't say it first, it'll never be said. I love him? I love him._

_I Love Him._

_Now can I say it to his face?_

_~*~_  

Jack got up and dressed himself completely before he headed back to camp. It was time to face some important facts. 

*** 

Jack walked into camp without a plan; but, then again, he never really had a plan at any other time in his life and he did just fine. There is something to be said for the talent of being able to think on one's feet.

Jack was focused, and that was a good thing. If he remained focused he wouldn't have time for doubts. Doubts were something Jack could never brush aside lightly. When they overwhelmed him, they inevitably changed his course. There would be no course change today. He had to know. 

James was standing near the shabby lean-to, tying more fronds into the structure. To his left was a new pair of papayas that he must have just gathered for their midday meal. He turned to face Jack as he heard him marching up the slim path from the fresh water pool to the beach. He looked at Jack with a concerned frown and opened his mouth to address him. James never got a chance to utter a word. 

Jack took James' face in both hands and pulled him into a searing, crazy, and desperate kiss. It was the kind of kiss like he had seen his Da share with Mick before they parted to do something particularly dangerous, and they thought they would not see one another again. It was the kind of kiss he had seen Will and Elizabeth share once it became all too clear that they would have ten years between them before they would next touch. 

It was a kiss touched with the violence of want and the fear of deprivation. It was a kiss like none Jack had ever shared with another soul. And the most amazing part of it was that James returned it in full measure. James' hand touched the side of Jack's face as his other hand went beneath the mass of hair at his neck to pull him closer. Their bodies pressed together in a desperate need for connection. 

The kiss was made of fire and it stole Jack's breath as he felt James' tongue dueling fiercely with his own. Jack's mind was swimming in lust and confusion and sweet joy all intermingled and overlapping. He was tangled in emotions. Was this what he was afraid of? 

It felt tremendous and awe-inspiring! It felt like taking a deep breath after holding your breath for an eternity. It made Jack want so hard and so indescribably that he scarcely knew what he was doing. He wasn't sure when they had sunk to the ground, but they lay half on a blanket and half on the sand. James' hands were on his body and his were on James'. 

He lay partially on James, nuzzling kisses against his jaw and throat while he listened to the heady sounds of James' passion and pleasure played out in sighs and groans. 

_~*~_

_Love you, James. Love you!_

_~*~_  

After a whirlwind of motion and confusion that Jack could only describe as desperation's peak, they lay naked chest to naked chest. Jack's trousers were open and his hand had slipped beneath the waist of James'. The want was larger than ever in his breast.

James was clawing at Jack's breeches, pushing them down with a growl. Jack was nibbling on his delicious skin as his own hands sought to free James of his trousers as well. The fire of their need blazed out of control when hot flesh touched hot flesh. James' erection moved up against Jack's between their bellies, and Jack threw back his head and keened a ragged groan. They were wrapped in each other's arms and legs, moving in a crazed rhythm of desire. 

"Love you!" Jack said it out loud this time, but it came out as a breathless whisper. 

"Jack!" James moaned in delight, taking Jack by a handful of hair and pulling him back to his lips. His kiss was bruising and reckless. His body rocked upward against Jack's with unchecked power. It was all Jack could do to hold on for the ride. 

"Yes! Jack! Jack!" 

Then James was coming, his body freezing in place for a moment and his eyes closing as he mouthed a soundless scream. Jack watched him, tenderness washing through his heart. He laid his lips to James' exposed throat, letting them feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. Jack knew. He knew now that he loved this man and he would do anything to see him so happy and so very free. Jack pushed against James as he convulsed in the after-throes of his orgasm. He loved him and moved against him knowing that he was in love at long last. 

Jack came, a wondrous smile on his lips, knowing that his seed was mixing with James'. Together. 

_~*~_

_So mayhaps that's love, mate. I still don't get it, but I'd lay a shilling on the fact that no bloody one else gets it either. It something you have; not something you get to understand. Savvy?_

_~*~_  

A hand stroked his hair and Jack lifted his head to look down into pure jade fire. Jack brought a hand up to tenderly brush his knuckles along James' cheek. He looked the man over in awe.

"You should never wear a ruddy wig again, luv," Jack said. 

Then something breathtaking happened. James smiled a truly happy smile, and Jack thought he had never spied a more magnificent sight. 

"Why do you say that?" James asked in a soft, purring voice. 

Jack's hand strayed up to play in the soft locks of James' dark chestnut hair. 

"So beautiful..." Jack whispered. 

"So beautiful," James echoed as he tenderly touched Jack's lips with his fingertips. 

Jack smiled. "We need a bath, luv." He watched James' smile become playfully in response. This was a James Norrington Jack doubted anyone had ever experienced. Jack rolled to his feet smoothly and offered James a hand. The man allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, crashing heedlessly into Jack with a brilliant peal of laughter and a few quick and gentle kisses. They pulled the rest of their clothing off and ran naked to the surf. 

No one had probably ever known a truly happy, playful and free James Norrington, and Jack was proud to have been the one to release this beautiful spirit from within his self-made cage of guilt and fear. 

They spent the afternoon splashing and playing like children in the surf. Then they lay on the blankets near the lean-to and shared bites of fruit and swigs of rum for their luncheon. They spoke of friends and lovers past. They spoke of the misadventures they had shared. They made plans for the future. 

Well, actually, Jack made plans. James just made vicious fun at all of them. 

"You're a cruel man, James Norrington," Jack exclaimed as he grabbed the jug of rum back from his hands. 

"You are a reprobate, Jack Sparrow. One can hardly discount that little fact when one figures up the tally of all your best laid plans." 

"I've not lied to you about me exploits," Jack replied. "But this... this, Jamie, be the greatest prize ever! And it will not cost us, or anyone else, any pain. This I promise you!" 

Jack reached over to his satchel which he had stowed just under the lee of the lean-to. He pulled out the rolled up circle that was the heart of Sao Feng's chart. He moved the outer and inner circles until they aligned to show him what he needed to see, and then he pushed the chart James' way. 

"See?" 

James looked the chart over for a moment or two, examining it with a critical eye. He then smiled and turned to Jack. 

"You trust me with this?" James said softly. 

"Eh?" Jack looked at him confused. It hadn't occurred to him that James shouldn't be trusted, even considering his own experience with the man. He shouldn't trust him, and yet suddenly he did implicitly. 

"You really meant it when you said you loved me," James whispered. Then they were kissing again, lying back on the blankets and touching softly and gently until the evening stars shone down on them. The world moved about them but they were lost in each other for a time until, at long last, James sighed as he eased his softening member out of Jack's body. 

"Supper?" Jack asked softly. 

"I could live on your love alone." 

"Now that be just entirely too sentimental, Jamie luv." 

"Not when you consider that my options are that foul slush and hardtack," James replied. 

"Didn't really get a chance t'hunt today." 

"Yes, I was there, Jack. You needn't explain," James said dryly. 

"We still have fruit and rum," Jack said. 

James snuggled at his back. "That's fine, Jack," he said with a yawn. 

"Aye, it's been a long day, my James." Jack smiled as he felt James nuzzle a kiss against his shoulder. Jack propped himself on an elbow and took a swig of rum. It had been a long and emotional day, and tomorrow would be the beginning of a new chance to chase the horizon.

*** 

Jack awoke at dawn, but James was no longer spooning his back. They had lain naked and warm beneath one blanket throughout the night. Looking about the camp, Jack noticed the tin cup was missing. He smiled to himself. James was off having his morning shave. He stood, scratching himself. After last night's activities, he certainly needed another bath.

It made sense to Jack to seek out his ex-pirate hunter love and join him at the forest pool. Jack didn't bother to dress, and why should he? He was going to bathe in a pool with a man he had made love to countless times only the night before. Jack hummed Elizabeth's pirate song happily to himself as he walked, his mind filled with visions of James: between his thighs, on his back, on his knees, topsy-turvy with Jack's prick in his luscious mouth while Jack held James' in his own mouth. Love was good. It was so damn good. Moreover, James was audacious and adventurous when he was finally set free. Jack could really start to enjoy this condition called love if this was one of its finer attributes. 

When he reached the water's edge, he realized that James was not there. He had been there and gone. The tin cup and James' shoes lay by the pool's sand and stone bank, waiting quietly to be retrieved. 

Jack took a quick swim, then gathered the abandoned items and went back to their camp. He dressed quickly in shirt and breeches, his curiosity high and his anxiety only just an itch in the back of his mind, waiting to become something large and terrible. He wandered up the beach, heading in the direction he had come when the crab had led him to James. 

He breathed a long sigh of relief when he saw his lover's proud form facing the waves, hands clasped behind his back with military poise and bearing. It was in Jack's humble opinion that only James could make such a pose both formidable and sexy at the same time. It was an impressive feat. James watched the morning breakers with a sober expression. 

"There you are," Jack began as he came up to the man. James was freshly shaved, and other than being shoeless once more, was ready for the day. 

Jack smiled brightly. "We've got a fresh breeze and we could set out as soon as we pull the provisions together. We'll bear north for a bit. Could see land again in three days sailing. What say you to that?" 

James did not answer. He continued to look out to the rolling sea. Jack peered into the distance in the direction he was looking but saw nothing but the bright horizon. He looked back at James, noting the sadness in his eyes now. The anxiety renewed itself in Jack's brain with a clawing grip. Jack's smile slipped from his face, and he regarded James with a frown born from mild vexation. 

James sighed. 

Jack watched him for a moment longer and was prepared to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he spoke. However, James, at last, spoke. 

"I can't go with you, Jack." 

Jack could feel his face fall into a stunned, open-mouthed expression, as he felt his guts fall heedlessly to his breeches. What was it that James was saying to him? What did it mean? 

"What's that, luv?" 

James turned his head to look at Jack. His eyes, sad but dry, were sincere as he looked directly into Jack's own. "I cannot go. I cannot leave this island." 

Jack knew he must look like a stunned cod, his mouth moving, but no words issuing forth. He didn't know how to process the words that James had just told him. 

James looked back out to the horizon. "I had a dream last night. A dark woman in calico skirts came out of the ocean. She told me that if I left this island, I would go back to being dead and there would be no coming back." 

"Dark woman you say?" Jack asked moving closer to James. "Painted lips. Lots o' crabs?" He made scurrying motions with his fingers. 

"You know of her," James said softly. "Of course you do. If it is one thing I can expect of you, Jack, is to be in the center of all things unnatural." 

"James, luv, Tia told you that you can't leave here?" 

"Yes, that is what she said." 

Jack's back straightened as the realization struck him. Jack had to go. It was only sheer bloody dumb luck that Barbossa hadn't found him yet. But now, he would leave James behind, and he had no say in the matter whatsoever. 

"I can't... I can't leave you," Jack whispered. He hadn't intended to say those words. They just seemed to tumble out his mouth unbidden, and at any other time they would have been foreign and/or untrue coming from him. Nevertheless, as Jack spoke them he felt them to be the unadulterated truth. 

"You must," James replied just as softly. 

"James...." 

"Jack." James turned to face him again, his expression stopping the flurry of words that crowded Jack's mind, clamoring to be released. "You'll have to chase your prize without me. I know you will find it." 

Jack's body stilled as did the joy that had so recently held his heart. "I'll be back for you." 

James smiled that small half-smile he had perfected so well in the face of heartbreak. "Then I shall have a reason to remain clean shaven." 

*** 

James helped him pack his provisions, securely stowing all the rum on the little boat. Jack tried to leave him at least one jug, but James only laughed and said, "By the stars, Sparrow! You'll certainly need it more than I."

Jack left James the tin cup and brush and his few slivers of soap. Jack then gave him his boot knife. 

"I wish I had more t'give," Jack said as he pushed the hilt into James' hand. 

"You've given me more than anyone else before," James replied softly. He then touched Jack's face tenderly. "So beautiful." 

And that was when Jack truly knew it was love. He knew it because he could feel his heart breaking inside him. 

Together, they pulled the boat from the shore to the surf. Jack was ready to sail. They shared a last desperate kiss, once more so like the kisses Jack remembered witnessing from desperate lovers in the past. Jack pulled the onyx ring from his pinkie and took James' hand. Reverently he pushed the ring onto James' pinkie finger. 

"My pledge to you, James Norrington: I'm coming back for you." 

With a final soft kiss, Jack let go and took his first steps towards the surf where the boat sat rocking in the shallows. 

"Jack," James called out. Jack turned to look at the man. 

"I love you," James said. 

It was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him. And even as his heart was breaking, it swelled with emotion. Yes, this was love. He would return for his James. 

Jack looked out to the horizon as the ship caught its first live wave and began to surge its way back out to sea. It was his habit to look forward and never look back. Nevertheless, Jack's head turned. He watched the lone figure on the beach until the white sands and the island had shrunk away in the distance. 

_~*~_

_So this is me, mate, one pathetic pirate in love with a man who only very recently had been actively trying to kill me. I suppose that would be fitting for a scallywag such as myself._

_What was that wish again? What was it that Tia claimed my secret heart desired? A foul turn of events, this, and I should know better. Wishes don't come true just as you like them._

_~*~_  

 

~One Year Later~

 

Jack stepped off the dinghy into the surf. Ahead, in the bright morning sunlight he could see the large shelter. It was quite an interesting construct that Jack knew had started from the little lean-to they had built together.

James stood waiting for him, freshly shaved. He wore only his shirt and breeches. Jack smiled when he saw him, his heart swelling inside his breast. He wanted to shout out his joy, but he held himself under control. 

They walked to each other on the beach, meeting just yards from the camp that now looked well lived in. James seemed a little thinner, but well. 

"'ello, luv," Jack greeted him. 

James pulled him into a hard kiss. 

Jack laughed as he freed himself from the amorous attack, but he wrapped his arms about James. His joy was boundless. 

"Then you did miss me, aye?" 

"Sparrow, you insufferable felon!" James hissed passionately. 

"Aye, you missed me," Jack said in a roughly purring voice. He let James attack him with more kisses. 

Jack laughed again. 

"Did you find your prize?" James asked. 

Jack's smile softened and he ran a tender finger down James' cheek. "I have now." 

Before James could say anything more, Jack unwrapped himself from James' arms and began to fumble in the pocket of his topcoat. 

"Wait," he said, lifting a finger. "wait... AH!" he pulled a small flask from his coat pocket. 

"Here, James. Drink this." 

"And just what, pray, is this?" 

"Aht, luv. Just drink and trust in ol' Jack." 

James gave him a suspicious glare but uncorked the bottle and took a healthy swig. Jack smiled at the trust the man had showed him. 

Almost immediately James' cheeks became flushed and he blinked. "What was it, Jack?" 

"How do you feel?" Jack asked with a devious smile. 

"I feel fine, now. I felt a tingle before, something of a rush, but it is gone now." 

"Ha!" Jack cut a quick and somewhat fumbling caper. 

"Sparrow!" James bellowed to get his attention again. But Jack smiled, nearly dancing as he took James' hand. 

"Come on, luv. Let's go home." He began to pull James to the dinghy. 

"Jack, have you gone totally mad... or at least more so than when I last saw you?" James asked dryly, but he planted his feet where he stood. 

"Aye, grab your gear! I almost forgot!" Jack rushed back to the camp, grabbing James' coat and shoes. He grabbed the cup and brush, all the while mumbling to himself. "Oh he won't need that... he'll definitely need that... now where is that bloody knife?" 

"Jack, what is this all about?" James asked as he watched Jack ransack his little home. 

Jack looked up and smiled at James. He came over to James and placed a small kiss to his lips. 

"That was the water of life from the very fountain I was searchin' for, luv. You can leave the island now. You're free." 

"Jack?" 

"Won't know until we try, eh? You trust your ol' Jack?" Jack reached out his hand to James. 

James hesitated, but only for a very slight moment. He took Jack's hand and Jack beamed with pride at his sweet, brave James. 

"Let's go home, luv." 

Jack took the bundle of belongings he had wrapped in James' old admiral's coat and led James back to the dinghy, his smile bright as he looked beyond the shallows where the _Black Pearl_ awaited them. Home.

_~*~_

_So now this is me and my James, mate. I knew before I even found the fountain that I would find a way to bring James home to me. The fey mousy creature that guarded the fountain told me that I had a choice. I could drink the water and gain everlasting youth and immortality or I could take the water to bring back one from beyond, but it was either one or the other and not both._

_Now, you can clearly guess which choice I made. That means that me and James get our happily ever after until death do us part. No eternal life for us... at least not until we both sit in hell together._

_Was it worth it, mate? Aye, James Norrington **is** worth dyin' for. _

_What's more, there are still all manner of interesting and mysterious prizes to find out there, and we still have the chart. Me and Jamie, we could be chasin' that ol' horizon until the world comes to a bleedin' end._

_~*~_

 

 

 

Fin


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